


Oath Breaker II: Dawn and Twilight

by GoblinCatKC



Series: Oath Breaker [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Creature Draco, Dark Magic, Knights of Walpurgis, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 119,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5750365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoblinCatKC/pseuds/GoblinCatKC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war was over. Voldemort lay dead, but so did Hogwarts castle. New battles reveal the sins of the wizarding world, old prejudices jeopardize the peace, and Draco is guided toward self-sacrifice by a powerful force hidden in the forgotten memories of his blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wherein the opera is worse than usual

Seated with his family in their carriage, eyes half closed as Harry leaned a little too heavily on his shoulder, Draco listened to the horse hooves clopping on the ground. No one spoke, a little miracle for the Malfoy family as Severus and Narcissa sat peaceably with Lucius, doing their best to ignore each other after the day's earlier argument. Draco thought the family resembled a nest of snakes coiled together as they drowsed.

Normally they wouldn't drop their guard so completely, but everyone was tired and even Severus had admitted that they'd kept their travel plans sufficiently secret. The wizarding road wound through the countryside and sped them comfortably to the small town of Givry-on-Stratford. Esconced in the warm carriage, now and then Draco glanced out of his window at the last rays of sunset over the falling snow.

His robes were charmed to keep warm and the dash from their cottage to the carriage had lasted only a moment, but the sharp wind had sent a twinge through the old wounds of his right hand and shoulder. As healed as he ever would be, he wondered if he would always ache through every winter and wet, chilly night, until the ache never died but merely faded so that he lost all use of that hand. He flexed it to feel his fingers move. That might not happen for years, perhaps ever, and the price he'd paid in blood paled compared to what so many others had lost in Voldemort's final attack.

He supposed he should be happy he wasn't flying a broom in the snow right now. The last battle could have turned into a slaughter so easily. As winter edged toward spring, the snow reminded him uncomfortably of Voldemort's blizzard nearly half a year ago.

Harry shifted against him and sat up with a sigh, tugging on the edge of his robes. He always fidgeted in dress robes, even though these had been tailored for him with charms to make them more comfortable.

Draco didn't understand why Harry had such a hard time wearing formal clothes. Even if he was used to shabby muggle wear, these were nowhere near as form-fitting as Draco's own severely cut robes, which he'd slowly grown used to in the past few months.

His collar rose high on his throat and the tight sleeves hugged his arms, while the robe itself clung to his body in strict straight lines only partially concealed by a cloak. But then Draco found tighter clothes more practical for brewing potions, as well as more effective in luring Harry away from his meetings and back into the bedroom to laboriously unbutton him free.

And if he was manipulating his husband into abandoning his pet political causes, at least he was doing it for Harry's own good, no matter how much Harry disliked being puppeted. Draco didn't like the look of the growing shadows under his husband's eyes. The first year of learning social niceties was always the hardest, but Harry wasn't used to courting other people's good will. His straightforward Gryffindor heart rebelled against currying favor amongst people he couldn't stand, and he still struggled to find his own way in the Ministry. Lucius' subtlety and vicious scheming would never come naturally to him, but Harry's quick temper and blunt manners served him even less.

Since the wedding, Draco had not left Harry's side both out of fear of the world, but also fear of Harry jeopardizing everything they'd worked for with one angry word when Draco wasn't there. It didn't help that his husband had a terrible habit of asking deceptively simple questions that left even the best politicians fumbling or fuming. Naiveté and blunt honesty, a lethal combination for anyone other than Harry.

"The moonlight suits you."

Then again, Harry never lied to him. His whisper forced Draco to smile. Charms on the carriage windows kept anyone outside from looking in but let everyone inside see out, so the moonlight and stars played on Draco's hair and face like a halo. Harry often said that the moon made his skin look like his gleaming mother of pearl scales, and like each night, Harry touched his cheek as if expecting to feel cool snakeskin. Instead Draco was warm and leaned into his touch.

Outside the moon's glow changed to gold lamplight as they came to the outskirts of town. The road they traveled changed from dirt to cobblestones, and the hooves of the horses clopped on the street. Harry's eyebrows knitted as he listened, a look Draco recognized and dreaded.

"You're thinking up a thousand questions again, aren't you?" Draco sighed.

Harry half-smiled, knowing that he drove his lover insane with questions, but only Draco answered them instead of ordering him to look it up in a book.

"I'm sorry, it's just--I can hear the horses, so why can't I hear the carriage wheels? Do the horses need to feel the ground underneath them? What about when they fly? Do they--"

Answers for which Draco neither knew nor cared. He put his sore hand into Harry's, satisfied when Harry began rubbing circles in his palm out of habit. He didn't know everything about Harry's childhood, but his lover starved for affection and latched onto it whenever offered.

"So that's how you stop his questions," someone said in front of them.

He'd wondered when his former master would say something. When traveling together, the unspoken agreement was that they would not argue while in such a confined space, for their own sanity and, considering their tempers, their safety as well. Tonight, however, none of them were in the best of moods, dragged out into the cold to mingle with society wizards none of them liked.

"Severus, must you be so vulgar?" Narcissa glanced out of the corner of her eye, careful not to crease her black evening gown as she glared across her husband at Severus. Her look had no effect on the potions master, who stared out the window in bored disinterest.

"If we'd invested in separate carriages like I suggested--"

"And chance Draco being attacked without us nearby to protect him?"

"More likely the boys would tumble out on top of each other on the sidewalk."

Sitting across from Harry and Draco, Lucius touched his fingers to a spot between his eyes that Harry had come to recognize as an attempt to ward off a headache, usually caused by the two people on either side of him.

"Must you argue tonight?" Lucius sighed, his words clipped and terse. He leaned back in his seat with his hand clenched around the serpent's head of his cane as if he wanted to draw his wand. "Bad enough I have to listen to Ministry wizards all day, but do I have to listen to you argue as well?"

Narcissa quietly sat straight in her seat again and looked out of her own window. Nothing was said for a moment. Severus shifted slightly and pushed his hair out of his face. Even clean, it hung limp, but now it gave him a morose and sulky look rather than seeming like he'd gone a week without stepping into a shower. Although Draco would never admit it, he was surprised by how Severus looked when forced to wear dress robes and take care of his appearance. But if brewing potions could turn someone pale and sallow, he worried about how he might look himself in a few years.

"Please forgive my asking," Narcissa murmured, "but if you're that tired, why not skip the opera tonight? There are other performances scheduled this week."

"But the press will only attend the premiere," Lucius said. "And we must make appearances."

Severus sighed as if he was the one being put upon. "Cocktails afterwards, I assume?"

"Most likely," Lucius said. "There are matters I must speak to Scrimgeour about and I'm hoping he's here tonight." He glanced at Harry, who'd clasped Draco's hand and knitted their fingers together. Lucius knew his son hated hearing any of them argue and he didn't miss the fact that Draco constantly sought comfort from his husband.

"I believe," Lucius continued with a look at Harry, "that you had questions of your own for the minister?"

As always when addressed by the head of the family, Harry found himself trapped between his previous hatred of the man and the need to keep the peace. Draco's hand tightened on his. Fortunately this time he could fall back on his growing disgust of politics.

"Yes, but I just got done arguing with his counselors this afternoon," Harry said, sitting back hard in the seat. "So did you. When do we get a break?"

"If you sit in the right spot," Severus said before Lucius could answer, "you can sleep until intermission."

"Really?" Harry brightened.

"Sev'..."

They all heard the warning note creep into Lucius' voice. The patriarch could put up with a lot from his family, but with the recent stresses, not the least of which was Potter becoming his son in law, his temper had grown noticeably shorter. He had yet to hex anyone out of frustration, but that was only because all of them knew the exact moment to leave a room.

"Harry, dear," Narcissa said softly, "I suggest you watch it this time. You can always sleep during future performances, but you're amongst wizards who've seen this several times. You need to have a passing understanding of the opera if you want them to respect you."

Harry blinked. "Several times? Why?"

"God knows," Severus murmured, and Lucius made a small noise of agreement.

Narcissa smiled with a faraway look as she recalled other performances, obviously the only one who would enjoy this show. "Different singers can bring so much to the show. I remember the first time I saw La Candela di Maledizioni. Berlugia Marcona's voice was like an angel's."

"The opera aside," Severus said, his dry voice a little more serious now, "these minor appearances are part of your duties. We must show that we are truly trying to become part of their society. If we hide, they will fear us."

"Or forget us," Lucius said. "Don't overestimate their attention span. If you hide from the cameras, the Prophet will stop going to you for quotes and you won't seem like a threat anymore."

Having experienced the Prophet's attention span before, Harry looked doubtful, but there was no more time to ask questions. The light outside the carriage grew brighter as they reached the opera house nestled in the crowded government hub of town. The voices of wizards and witches chatting amicably mingled with that of other arriving carriages and the pops of portkey arrivals. Few apparated, but that was because everyone knew that the cocktails would be complimentary tonight and no one wanted to splinch themselves going home.

The carriage came to a gentle halt and someone opened the door. Harry still wasn't used to valets who opened doors for him and took the carriage away, and he didn't think he ever would be.

Lucius stepped out first, scanning the crowd for any hint of danger before standing aside and extending his hand to Narcissa, helping her step down. Severus followed with Harry and Draco close behind.

Awash in light, the Bredgett Opera House shone like a beacon in the countryside. An untold number of charms must have kept the muggles from growing curious about a bright spot in town, even if all the surrounding buildings were closed for the night, or the fancy carriages and well dressed wizards milling around the entrance. The lamps made the falling snow look like golden flurries, and Draco held his cloak closed as he followed Severus and Harry along the carpet up the steps.

Cameras flashed as the Daily Prophet photographed his family, focusing in particular on his father and Harry. As always, Draco took Harry's arm and did not let him turn away, whispering in his ear to smile until they were safely inside. And as always, Harry grumbled under his breath but smiled anyway.

They drew to a halt as they came up the final step and found Lucius speaking with a reporter, a young witch who'd clearly been assigned an unimportant social event for practice. She grinned to be given even a short interview with a famous dark wizard, and jotted down everything he said and how he looked while he said it.

"--still getting used to being out, so to speak," Lucius said. "Although I'm sure people had their suspicions before."

She nodded, trying to seem sympathetic through her excitement. "Was it hard keeping something so important to you a secret to everyone else?"

"Very much so. When a single slip can give you away, you grow so cautious that you turn cold and distrustful to the world."

A nice way, Draco thought, to explain their distaste for dealing with mudbloods and bloodtraitors. Any future slights could be blamed on old habits. He bit down his smile. True, they had targets on their backs now, but they'd always been prey for the light wizards. Now they could openly strike down their enemies and claim self-defense, that they had been attacked for being dark.

Perhaps they could slowly eat away at their worst opponents in the ministry--

Harry leaned close and whispered in his ear. "I know that look. Whatever you're thinking, I won't let you do it."

Draco turned his head and murmured back. "Mm, who says I'll let you stop me? You can't watch me all the time."

"No," Harry replied under his breath, "but I don't have to. All I have to do is distract you for a little while. You can't hex anyone if you're too busy with me."

One last camera flashed in front of them before Draco could answer. Harry blinked in surprise, and Draco took him by the arm and steered him up the steps before the photographer could snap another picture. Pictures were usually alright as long as Harry was caught off guard, but once warned, any more pictures invariably showed Harry trying to edge out of the frame. Draco knew his husband hated being in the news, but it made him look as if he was trying to get away from the Malfoy family, not at all the image they wanted to present to the world.

As they stepped through the doors, the opera house opened wide around them in bright red velvet on the walls with golden trim along the doors and edges. The large main room swept up into wide marble stairs that led to the second floor landing and a long set of alcoves that in turn led to two staircases that would take visitors to the third floor. Each alcove lay shadowed behind heavy red curtains tied back with gold cord, hiding the majority of the guests as they waited for the opera to begin.

"Wow," Harry breathed.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Draco said, enjoying his reaction. He knew Harry, for all his fame and wealth, had seen only a few of the wizarding world's spectacles. As much as he disliked light wizards, he loved being able to share some of their world with him.

"The original theater is over a thousand years old," he said. "This facade they built over it and the upper levels, those are much more recent."

"How can it be that old?" Harry asked.

"The same way my old home was older than that," Draco said, smiling at Harry's surprise. "Parts of it, anyway. This place began well before the separation between light and dark. The light wizards crafted the stage above ground, and the dark wizards created the space beneath it. If you ever go down there, there's a large basement for all their costumes and things."

"How do you know all that?" Harry asked. "More of your dark memories and dreams?"

"Mm. Come on." Draco gave him a tug towards the stairs. "I'm not watching an opera without a few drinks to start."

They had to make their way through a field of dignitaries, officials and celebrities of the wizarding world, and Draco cursed and blessed his slender build. He wasn't in the mood to waste time with politicians and people simply didn't notice a thin young wizard slipping between them, but that also meant he had to dodge and back away whenever someone nearly walked into him. After a few moments and a close call as someone gestured with his champagne, Draco found Harry moving past him.

"That's it," Harry said low enough for only him to hear. "Let me lead."

Without much of a choice, Draco found that he wasn't holding Harry's arm so much as his husband had a firm grip on him, and he quickened his pace to keep up. Harry's ability to avoid being spotted sometimes made Draco wonder if that invisibility cloak worked on everyone but Malfoys. Messy hair and owlish glasses made very few people look twice, especially when that hair covered the distinctive scar, and everyone edged out of the way for a clumsy looking wizard. With a satisfied look, Harry took two glasses from the elf passing them out and handed one to his lover.

"Nice to have a big dumb Gryffindor to hide behind?" he smiled.

"I admit, you have your uses," Draco said, hiding his own smile behind a sip.

"Nothing in the drink?" Harry asked. Every since the poisoning of the food in Hogwarts, he'd treated everything that hadn't been poured by a Malfoy as suspect.

"Nothing," Draco reassured him. "But you've been with us long enough, you could probably taste if there was rowan or anything like that."

"Maybe," Harry said, "but I'm no potions master able to taste a dozen poisons and tell them all apart at once."

"Harry," Draco said, a rueful smirk belying his words, "if I'd known you'd never stop teasing me about it, I might not have made you all those antidotes."

To his surprise, Harry didn't banter back. His husband's face shadowed as he took a sip of his own champagne and grimaced at the taste, lowering it without any intention of touching it again.

"You know, I remember Dobby trying to say you owed me a life debt--"

"I remember, too," Draco said as his face darkened, "that rotten little--"

"Hush," Harry held up his hand to quiet him. "But I was thinking about it and...he had it the wrong way around. I don't know how many times I owe you my life."

Blinking in surprise, Draco tried to think over the past year while at the same time trying to see if anyone was listening to them. A crowded opera house was not the place he expected such a serious conversation. His mind blanked the way it wouldn't if he was with anyone else, but he trusted Harry so completely that for a moment his thoughts were too jumbled to speak. He stalled by taking Harry's arm and drawing him away to the shadowed recess beneath the grand staircase. Here the noise of the crowd was muffled.

After glancing over his shoulder to make sure they hadn't been followed, Draco turned and breathed in as Harry drew close to him. His warmth enveloped him and seemed to cut them off from everyone else.

"You made the antidotes for me," Harry said softly. "You saved me from that mob in the dungeons, and then brought me with you when you hid in Slytherin, even though you could barely drag yourself in. You helped save the castle, you kept your family grimoire safe from Voldemort. You even dragged me away from him the first time--mm, not sure I should count that--"

"You should," Draco said before he could stop himself. In his opinion, Harry's worst enemy was his own stubborn bravery.

His husband tilted his head and nuzzled Draco's hair and cheek. "And you were with me."

"I...what?"

"You--you kept me company through a very rough part of my life." Harry stayed close to him, and Draco had the feeling Harry was avoiding his eyes.

"I could say the same," he offered.

"No, you..." Harry sighed. "Well, maybe. Is dark magic like being addicted?"

Oh. Draco half-shrugged and put his free arm around Harry, holding him closer. "A little, but not very much. Truth be told, I didn't even think about it then. Beyond making your antidotes, it didn't matter."

"Exactly." Harry stood straight enough to meet his look. "Maybe it was because you were wrapped up in your problems, but before you came back, the teachers all treated me like I might explode."

"What about your Gryffindor friends?" Draco asked, guessing the answer before he finished the question.

"They knew something was wrong. They wouldn't stop asking me questions, why wasn't I eating, why wasn't I sleeping? But they never would've understood." Harry sighed and set his champagne glass on a recessed, decorative niche in the wall so he could have both hands to hold Draco. "You sort of took me as I came. You didn't try to fix me."

"No, I just tried to make you fall in love with me," Draco mumbled. Why Harry insisted on trying to make him sound noble mystified him, especially after he'd seen exactly how Draco lied and cheated and terrorized anyone he didn't love.

"And it worked," Harry said, cupping his palm to Draco's cheek. His thumb brushed Draco's skin as he leaned closer. "Just not the way you thought."

"Why did you forgive me for it?" Draco asked, surprising himself with the question. He looked over his shoulder again to make sure they were still alone, a small miracle with so many people around.

"Because you love me," Harry said. He gently pushed Draco back to face him. "I'm sorry looking so deep into your mind hurt you, but I think I'd forgive you for anything after seeing it."

Burning, intense love that scalded anyone who lost themselves inside it. Draco remembered the wounds left by Harry's ransacking and hoped Harry never searched so deeply inside him again, but as time made the pain slowly fade from memory, he discovered a growing sense of gratitude that Harry had looked so deep, and a feeling of pride for having suffered it. Perverse pride, he thought, and he (and Severus) had never spoken of it to Lucius or Narcissa. But how many people could say that their lover had looked into their soul and proved the depth and fury of their love to both of them?

"We should go back," he murmured, feeling too vulnerable for such an intimate conversation. "They'll get worried if we--"

He stopped when he saw Harry's hurt look before he could hide it. He could guess why. Harry felt uncomfortable talking about anything like this with the rest of the family around. Even at home behind their chamber door, Harry wondered if Lucius or Narcissa were spying on them. Draco knew he never should have told him that his parents weren't above eavesdropping.

"It's not safe here," Draco whispered. "This is something we should talk about where no one can hear. In bed, behind the drapes I think."

The promise of a pleasant night soothed Harry's feelings. He nodded once and put his hand gently on Draco's back, walking beside him out from under the stairs. Now that they weren't threading their way through the crowd, a few light wizards finally noticed Harry and began to move towards him, only to pull up short when they spotted Draco at his side. He'd made too many enemies at the ministry, made too many threats while working to free his father, for them to forget.

"Harry!"

Inwardly groaning, Draco stood perfectly straight and only glanced out of the corner of his eye as a familiar mop of red hair came towards them.

"Oh, wonderful," he muttered. "First the opera, now a Weasley. My night is complete."

Harry's hand tightened a little on his shoulder. He didn't have to say anything. Draco sighed and lowered his head slightly in acknowledgment. The same way Harry didn't antagonize his father, Draco tried not to bait the weasels.

"Didn't expect to see you here," Ron said, coming to a stop in front of them. For once, his dress robes didn't look out of style or handed down. Probably a gift from his brothers, Draco thought, or his annoying fiancé.

Speaking of which, he spotted her coming towards them with two glasses of champagne. Somehow she'd tamed her hair to stay out of her face, save for a few wisps, and her eyes sparkled in excitement.

"Hey, Harry," she said as she handed Ron a glass. "I can't believe we got an invitation for this. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Oh, um," Harry said. He smiled in self-deprecation when she tilted her head and frowned. "I guess opera just isn't my thing."

"Well, you've got to give it a chance first," she laughed.

As they chatted, Draco narrowed his eyes in thought. Hermione's face and hair not only looked better, they looked a little different. Her eyes were a lighter shade of brown, her complexion was smoother, and her usually unmanageable hair stayed up in a conservative but fashionable style. His mouth quirked.

She'd cast a glamour on herself.

He fought his smirk down before they noticed. Had she really done it herself? Probably, since they didn't have the money to waste on vanity. Devious little minx--he wondered if Ron had guessed. When he and Harry were upstairs in their box, he hoped he remembered to make a note to keep track of how often she used glamours. If she used it too much or if they started having money trouble, he could go to Harry and explain how concerned he was about her and perhaps she had started experimenting with addictive spells?

Then Harry would be happy that Draco could show some sympathy for mudbloods and the annoying little chit would be stuck in St. Mungo's for awhile and the Weasel with her. Which would mean he'd have Harry to himself without having these annoying interruptions whenever his friends showed up.

"Speaking of which," Ron's voice cut into his thoughts. "How is it living with the Malfoys? "

"It's...fine." Harry's smile looked forced. "We're--um--still learning how to get along, but it's fine."

"They haven't chased you out of the house screaming yet?" Ron laughed.

Draco kept his face impassive. Lucius had done that the first week, and Harry had been laughing as he baited his father. But he told himself that Harry didn't like being manipulated and none of them had tried to control him so obviously again.

"Granger," he started, ignoring Ron. "You look quite glamorous tonight, I must say."

Her eyes narrowed, but if she caught his meaning, she didn't let on. "Thank you, Malfoy. That almost sounded sincere."

He smiled. "I've been practicing."

Even the glamour couldn't hide the rising color on her cheeks. She opened her mouth to snap at him, but Draco took Harry's arm and tugged him away, mouthing a litany of polite excuses and farewells as he took Harry upstairs.

"So sorry to chat and run," he said over his shoulder. "Delightful to have seen you again."

"I'll catch you at intermission," Harry called back to them.

For a moment he allowed Draco to pull him away and up the stairs. The crowd around them began to move towards the theater, and a few noticed the two boys and exchanged pleasantries so that Harry had to squash his irritation until they reached the upper level. There were only a handful of people looking for their seats, and the hall seem to swallow whispers.

"Do you have to treat them like that?" Harry sighed.

"I was perfectly hospitable," Draco said quickly, expecting the question. "They're the ones who ignored me, and then Granger only got angry because I had a quick answer."

"Draco--"

"They started it."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, thought it over, then shook his head.

"...you're right. I'll talk to them again, ask them to be civil." He stopped and turned to face him, putting his hands on Draco's shoulders to keep him from leaving in a huff. "But I don't want you arguing either. I try not to upset your family. Can't you try the same for my friends?"

Turning his head to hide his scowl, Draco almost refused. Act civil to a weasel and that know-it-all? But he hated the feeling that settled in his stomach when his family argued and if Harry felt anything similar...

"I'll try," he mumbled.

"Thank you." Ignoring the handful of people around them, Harry bent slightly and kissed him. "I know you'll never like them, but you've proven you can be courteous."

"Maybe I shouldn't be courteous then," Draco said softly. "The last person I was courteous to, I ended up marrying."

"Doesn't sound like you mind," Harry laughed.

"I suppose it could be worse." Draco's scowl faded away and he smiled. "I could've married someone poor."

"Or," a snide voice cut over Harry's response, "you could've stood around like love struck fools making a spectacle of yourselves."

A few yards away, Severus leaned half out from behind the curtain partitioning off their private box, glaring at them. "Get inside before your parents see you."

"Yes, mas--Sev'," Draco sighed. It would take a long time before he got used to calling his former master by his name. Ten years of being his apprentice made "master" second nature.

As they walked towards the box, Harry leaned over and whispered in his ear.

"You mean you wouldn't love me if I was poor?"

"I would," Draco said. "Even if you were as poor as a Weasley, I would've loved you. The money just made you more enticing, like sugar on an apple tart."

"Spoiled brat," Harry said. "But you don't need money to be interesting, right? You called Hermione glamorous, and she doesn't have all that much."

"Right," Draco said, but when Harry didn't take another step, he knew he'd given the secret away. He never knew how Harry could tell when he was hiding something, but something, perhaps a catch in his voice or the way he walked, always tipped him off.

"What is it?" Harry asked, the good humor gone from his voice. "Was that whole glamourous remark an insult after all?"

Draco groaned under his breath and looked around to see if anyone was nearby. "No, not really."

"'Not really'?" Harry came closer, looming over him without meaning to. His glare felt like it would bore into him. "That doesn't sound reassuring."

"She's just angry I knew she's using a glamour," Draco hissed. "I could've said something and let Weasley know about it, but I didn't."

"Hermione's using a glamour?" Harry said. He was too used to Draco's annoyance to let it bother him. "Why?"

"She's a girl," Draco said as if that explained it. "And she knows how to cast them. She probably did it in the mirror. It's not like they have the money for it."

"I suppose..." Harry mused. His voice trailed off. "She didn't look all that different."

Knowing Severus was probably impatient already, Draco pulled Harry with him into the small box that held their seats. Nestled against the wall over the audience, the box was really meant for rich wizards looking to be seen at the opera by their peers, but it also provided privacy until they drew the curtains back.

"But she knows she can get addicted to those, right?" Harry asked.

Draco sat down in the chair nearest to the edge. If his husband really did go to sleep, at least he could shield him from view, but he didn't think Harry would be able to sleep in such stiff chairs, despite the velvet padding on the seat and back.

"Who's addicted to what?" Severus asked. He turned in his seat, closest to the exit, to see them clearly.

"Granger got an invite and she cast a glamour for the occasion," Draco answered. "Just around the eyes and hair, but then they always start small."

"How do you tell if someone's addicted?" Harry asked. "It's not like she would steal things--"

Before he could say more, Harry cut himself off. Draco didn't say anything. He'd never seen the worst of Harry's old addiction to felix felices, only heard his master allude to thievery and lies. He didn't like the thought of Harry addicted to anything. The Boy Who Lived had stood up to hardship, the ministry and Voldemort himself. Something so mundane as too much of a little potion shouldn't even bother him.

Without being aware of it, he reached over and put his hand on Harry's arm.

"Addiction to glamours," Severus began, carefully choosing his words. "is more subtle than anything else. If she can cast them herself, she probably won't exhaust their funds, but she will exhaust herself. And she'll grow sloppy. "

"Sloppy?" Harry asked.

"Her face will begin to distort as she focuses on what she thinks is wrong with herself," Snape clarified. "It's difficult to describe, but you will notice that she no longer looks like herself. She'll look like an actor playing her part."

"And the cure?" Draco asked, when it became clear Harry was too lost in thought to ask.

"Long stays at St. Mungo's now," Severus said. "Although we preferred to keep our addicts within the family. Glamours are dark magic, after all. Going for outside help would've meant too many questions from the ministry."

If Ron found out that his fiancé was still dabbling in dark magic--Draco bit off his laugh. Watching the indignant Weasleys abandon her might amuse him, but it would send Harry into a tailspin of guilt. Especially now that he knew about it.

"It's just one little glamour for the opera," Draco said suddenly. "Don't worry so much. You know she'd never let herself go too far. She probably didn't cast it until she knew all the risks."

"Mm." Harry didn't look any happier. Draco wondered if he knew something about Granger that worried him and realized of course he must. He'd known her years longer than he'd known Draco.

Before he could try to reassure him again, the curtain was drawn back and his father entered with his mother close at his side. Once he saw the rest of his family, Lucius visibly relaxed and took his seat at the front of the box. Narcissa patted her hair to make sure it was in place, then nodded once at her husband. By the time Lucius had drawn the front curtain to reveal themselves to the opera house, her mask of cool indifference was in place.

To Draco's relief, the opera house itself took Harry's attention off of Hermione. He stared with wide eyes at the proscenium arch decorated with swirls and shell designs, the stage so close that they could feel the heat of the lights, and the broad chandelier in the center of the ceiling. Hundreds of crystals sparkled on a gold frame, catching the glow of the floating candles nearby and lighting the audience below.

The murmur of the crowd softened as the orchestra tuned their instruments, and the last stragglers edged their way to their seats and settled in. Draco glanced over the audience, but there were far too many to do more than pick out a face or two. He grimaced slightly when he saw how many people were staring at him.

The Malfoy family always drew attention, especially now that they were revealed to be dark wizards, but he felt like a fish in an aquarium.

At last the candles snuffed out and the curtain rose, revealing the sparse set design of stone stairs leading up and off stage, along with an arch covered with moss, a well with a bucket, and a painted backdrop of overcast clouds that magically drifted by. Polite applause faded into the violins and cellos as a young woman came into view, going through the motions of sweeping the courtyard as she sang.

Even though Draco knew a little Italian, he had to look up above the stage where the English translation of the lyrics appeared in smoky letters. The words he might have recognized when spoken normally were now stretched out and stressed oddly. He wondered how his mother understood it, but he could see her mouthing the words along with the singer.

The woman's song explained how her mother sold her to a wealthy family hoping she would be educated in return for her work, but after her mother's death the agreement was forgotten and she had no other means except serving the family. She couldn't even buy a wand. As the husband and wife appeared on stage to berate her for doing a poor job, Draco leaned against Harry and watched with half-closed eyes. Harry put his arm around him and shifted slightly for a better embrace, yawning and resting his head on Draco's.

Though he was sure his mother loved every part, Draco thought the love duet between the poor servant and the rich couple's son was tedious. Since his eyes were accustomed to the darkness now, he gazed around the auditorium and spotted a handful of ministry officials near the front. He finally noticed the row of red heads and figured from the way they were lowered that half of them had fallen asleep.

The luxury of sitting amongst the rabble, he thought.

Finally the villain of the opera appeared, dressed obviously as a dark wizard in a long cloak with a heavy hood. He offered the girl a gift, revealing a brass lantern with a brass candle that never melted. When he lit the candle inside, the lantern burned bright green and swirled like a tempest, and the girl took it after allowing him to cut several locks of her hair.

Little idiot, Draco thought. But the lantern intrigued him, and he hoped he could look inside the grimoire later to see if cursed lanterns really existed.

Glass-like chimes, out of place and not part of the music, at first lingered on the edge of his notice. After a few seconds, though, the chimes grew louder and more insistent until Draco looked up in annoyance. He didn't see anything wrong, but when the sound finally became strong enough to hear its location, he realized what it was before he even looked up at the ceiling.

Shaking violently now, the chandelier struck the closest candles and sent them tumbling to the floor. Each crystal piece trembled and vibrated until Draco thought it would fall any second. On stage, the singers fell silent and the house lights came up while the wizards beneath it apparated out of harm's way. Everyone murmured and pointed as the aurors in the audience began to come forward.

Lucius rose slowly as if afraid that moving too fast might make it fall, speaking in a whisper. "Severus..."

"I know," Snape answered, also standing. "It would've fallen by now."

"The three of you," Lucius said, barely turning his head, "apparate home--"

His voice was drowned as the chandelier exploded, thousands of shattered slivers hurling in all directions like knives.


	2. Wherein magical war becomes magical terror

The next moment happened in a blur. Two gleaming shells of white light appeared over their seats as Severus and Lucius both cast scellean impervius. A second later, Harry's own protego spell followed, forming a third line of defense. Bright flashes below and around them showed that those in the audience with wand in hand were shielding as many as they could.

The shattered crystal sliced into the walls and curtains, but it wasn't until the shriek of flying shrapnel faded that Draco realized the loudest sounds of ripping hadn't come from the velvet. The shields in front of him had hundreds of slivers trapped within their light, keeping the family safely out of reach.

"Dear God," Severus whispered. "Lucius...our spells..."

Confused by the shock on Snape's face, Draco looked again. The shards were all embedded in a shield spell, yes, but there were dozens of slashes where the crystal had cut through both the older men's spells, only finally trapped in Harry's shield.

Narcissa leaned forward in her seat to see around her husband. "They didn't stop--Harry, what did you cast? In all the noise, I didn't hear."

"Just a protego," Harry said, staring at the spell. "I couldn't think of anything else."

He moved closer, raising his hand to the nearest sharp edge, but Lucius seized his wrist a few inches before he touched it.

"Let's not tempt fate," Lucius said softly, letting go when Harry nodded once. "A finite incantantem should end all the magic there."

Harry cast the spell, and they all relaxed as the spells disappeared and crystal clattered harmlessly to the floor. Their relief faded when they heard the screams and cries from below, growing in force now that the shield spells couldn't block the noise. Draco knew he shouldn't, but he put his hand on the railing and looked down.

The audience was a mass of bodies and people flailing or staggering so that he couldn't make out where one person ended and another began. He tried to focus on someone not moving around so much, to find a place to start in the chaos, but as he found a motionless hand on the floor to orient himself on, after following it up along the arm, he realized that it ended where the shoulder should have been. It had simply been sliced off.

His breath hitched. The people sparkled. Blood gleamed on the crystals embedded in their flesh, jutting out of their skin as if they'd grown there, catching the light. There weren't many that completely escaped the blast.

"--cissa, Draco. Listen to me, dammit."

Blinking a few times, Draco took a step back as if stumbling out of a dream. His father had Narcissa in his hands, softly shaking her until she looked away from the carnage and stared into his face.

"Both of you," he said, glancing over his shoulder at Draco, "apparate home. Or take the carriage if you don't feel you can."

She nodded weakly, putting her hand on the chair and slowly sinking out of his hands. Draco felt torn, wanting to take his mother home and escape the nightmare below them, wanting to stay near his husband and father and--

Lucius left the box with Severus and Harry, the decision made. Draco understood the need to keep the heir safe and the need to protect his mother in case this was an attack on them, an attack that could follow them home perhaps. But for the first time, being left behind stung.

In the scheme of things, though, his feelings didn't matter. He took a deep breath and put his arm around his mother.

"Could you take me side-along?" she said, her voice thin and strained.

"Of course."

Damn, he would have preferred the carriage. He hated apparating on his own, preferring even a broom over the sensation of suddenly blinking out of existence before reappearing somewhere. He closed his eyes and concentrated, and the cold feeling of nothingness washed over him for a second. Then they were back in the cottage they called home, his mother seated on the couch as the fireplace came to life. The steady glow of the hearth was so much different than the harsh sparkling in the opera house.

So quiet. He could almost believe he'd imagined it all. Behind him, the soft scuffling of elf footsteps rushed around at their unexpected return, and his order of tea and a blanket sent them running to obey. He stood in the center of the parlor, hands shaking slightly, a sick feeling of pent up energy making him uncomfortable.

"Thank you," she whispered, one hand over her eyes. "I know you want to go back there, but could you make sure the house is safe before you go?"

Surprised, he stared at her for a moment before he realized she was right. He knew wanting to return was madness, but he couldn't deny it. Maybe Harry's stupidity was rubbing off on him.

"You're sure you'll be all right?" he asked.

She nodded once. "I...yes. Yes. It just caught me by surprise. I thought--I had the strangest feeling that it was the night we destroyed the manor. As if it had started all over again."

He would have asked her what she meant, if only to distract himself, but the elves returned then, plying her with blankets and pillows and tea so that he was sure she was well taken care of. He checked the rooms and made sure none of the wards on the house and garden had been disturbed before coming back one more time.

"Be careful," she said before he could speak.

"I will." He paused and looked at her again, watching her drink tea without looking at him.

How did she live with knowing everyone she cared about was in harm's way? He knew she wasn't stuck here. If she wanted to, she could have argued with his father or even come back with him now. She looked fully recovered, if a little quiet. But she made no move to stand up. He sometimes wondered what she had gone through before he'd been born.

He apparated again. Groans and cries welcomed him back to the opera house. He'd only been gone a few minutes, and people still came stumbling out of the doorways, half-tripping down the grand staircase with blood on their clothes. Most of them pressed a hand to a gash on their face or side, running away in their panic. No one noticed him as he made his way up into the hell of the audience chambers.

There were still no aurors or healers beyond those who had attended the performance. The uninjured and the walking wounded gathered up those who couldn't move and slowly arranged them in the hallways, out of the cramped seats. They passed a few people still slumped over, and when Draco went to one of the closest, he found her eyes staring distantly at the stage. Two thick shards stuck out of her neck. Blood had long since stopped flowing out of her and now soaked her blue dress.

He swallowed his nervousness and touched her face. He didn't know why. It seemed important to touch her, to confirm to himself that she was dead and her body real. The warmth lingering on her skin was already fading under his fingertips.

His wand came into his hand by instinct. He didn't know how he knew, but this was no corpse. All his fear slipped away as he leaned over her and cupped his hand against her chest, filling his palm with her blood. He wished he had a full potions cabinet with him, but dark magic would do.

"Malfoy," someone said behind him. It took him a moment to recognize Ron's voice. "Leave that one. She's gone."

"I've been around death long enough to recognize it," Draco said. "Sticenia."

The dark spell resonated with the blood and spun it in his hand like a red whirlwind. Ron gasped to see it twist like thread and follow the tip of his wand as if it was a needle, flowing to the jagged wounds and stitching the edges. Draco delicately pulled the pieces of glass up and out and continued the spell even after the gashes were closed, blindly mending her internal damage.

Perhaps she was lucky, he thought. She'd be screaming in pain if she was awake.

"But the blood she lost..." Ron said, not really arguing.

Draco nodded as if reminded. He took a deep breath and cast sangana. Her body twitched and spasmed as the blood in her clothes sank into her skin, finding its way back to her veins.

"The blood's dirty," Draco said as he leaned back, trying to think of something else he could do. He still couldn't tell she was breathing. "The shock might still kill her--"

"The aurors'll take her on the next go, then," Ron said, pulling his sleeve. "Come on."

Not even thinking that he was listening to a Weasley, Draco left the woman where she was, an auror already heading to her side, and followed Ron down the aisle. Glass crunched underfoot and he wondered just how many crystals had made up that chandelier. A nearby auror took two people in his arms and apparated at the same time another auror reappeared and gathered another two. To his surprise, he saw a few men he knew to be Knights of Walpurgis apparating or kneeling beside the wounded.

For the next two people, he could do nothing more than close their eyes. Draco went to his knees beside the long row of people lined up along the wall. Were these the worst cases? Every other body had a coat or handkerchief draped over the face. He slowly moved over each one, passing over the dead and trying to find any living. He expected someone to come tell him to work on the less injured, but no one did, and the few times he found someone he could save, there was always an auror at his shoulder to take them.

A second explosion shook the building.

Fear strangled him. His body tensed until he thought his bones would break. His heart pounded as he listened to glass smashing somewhere close. Fighting to breathe, he forced himself to move and look around. No fresh damage, nobody dropping from another attack. He pressed his hand against his temple and closed his eyes. He was still safe. Several aurors and knights followed the noise out onto the staircase, but he couldn't hear their voices clearly. Some of those lying on the floor began crying or screaming again.

"Draco!"

A blonde girl ran to his side. Blood streaked her face and hair and completely covered her arms up to her elbows, but she moved as if she wasn't hurt. She knelt next to him and took a second to catch her breath.

"Take as many as you can apparate to St. Mungo's," she said. "Whatever you do, don't come back."

"But I can only take two," he said. "I can take more--"

"The front windows exploded," she said. "Probably meant for anyone coming to help. Merlin knows there might be more. Get going."

She left before he could ask her anything, and only as he gathered the two unconscious children beside him did he recognize her as Luna.

St. Mungo's hummed in frantic chaos as healers tried to find the most serious cases first. More healers appeared in the fireplaces in the front lobby, summoned from home and working in their pajamas. Someone took the children from him and he stood for a moment, not knowing what to do. He was used to fighting the Ministry, not working with them. He withdrew into a corner and leaned against the wall. All the chairs were full, so he sat down on the floor.

Did he dare apparate home? He didn't think he could do it without splinching himself in half. People moved by him in a blur. He hoped his father and master hadn't been near the second explosion. Harry could take care of himself when he bothered, but not knowing for sure left anxiety pooling in his stomach. He looked for his family but he couldn't pick out individual faces in the crowd.

When he tried to stand up again, his legs refused to take his weight. He could get his feet, but they trembled and slid out from under him again. They felt as if they'd turned into a tail and he couldn't move. Giving up, he brought his knees up to his chest. He hoped someone found him and then hoped no one found him, Ministry or family alike. No one had ever seen him this battered, no one except--

"Here you are."

Harry knelt beside him and carefully ran his hands down Draco's body, checking him for any cuts. Draco closed his eyes in relief.

"Ron told me you were back there," Harry said. "I almost didn't believe him. Are you hurt?"

"I--tired," Draco said, touching his messy hair. His hand trembled with the effort. "I cast so many spells..."

"Then let's take you home before your father finds out you came back," Harry said. He gathered Draco in his arms but didn't stand, making sure he had a good grip on him and looking over his shoulder so he didn't apparate while someone touched him.

"Father's all right?" Draco asked, fisting his hand in Harry's robes. "And Sev'?"

"They're fine. They're talking with the Minister right now, I think. Ready?"

Either Harry was getting better or Draco was too tired to feel the side along apparation, surprised when they arrived in their bathroom. Except for a little moonlight from the high window, the room was dark and thankfully still. He didn't mind that they were sitting on cold tiles, even though they reminded him of the ward in St. Mungo's. These weren't stained with blood.

The sconces on the wall were charmed to flare into life whenever someone walked in, but Harry took the moment to douse all but one light. The warm glow barely pushed the shadows away from the center of the room and the bathtub. Large and square, the tub took up most of the space, crowding everything else. It was covered in mosaic, but it had the air of being stone underneath.

"Are you sure you aren't hurt?" Harry asked. He undid the top button on Draco's collar, slowly working his way down. "You look awful."

"I feel awful," Draco said, his voice slurred from exhaustion. He leaned heavily against Harry and let him peel his top robes off, pulling his arms out of his sleeves. "I'm tired and sore and--and I shouldn't have had that drink."

"I don't think it's the drink making you feel like this," Harry said, smiling at him.

Draco frowned and didn't answer. Alcohol made wyverns burn hot and cold. Right now his head hurt and his stomach felt like it was full of rocks. He never felt this way after a fight before. Not even during the war.

"I'm sure it was the champagne," he mumbled. Harry bent over to unlace Draco's pants, so Draco leaned on top of him, not caring if his husband minded his weight. As expected, Harry only chuckled.

"If you say so. Why'd you have it then? You know it makes you sick afterward."

"False courage," he whispered. "They all know what I am."

With a half smile, Harry sat up and brushed Draco's mussed hair from his face. "Not to make them sound like bugs, but they're more afraid of you, I think."

Draco watched him stand and lean over the bathtub, turning on the hot water so that steam rose up. Harry sat on the edge, testing the temperature with his hand as he toed off his shoes and absently unbuttoned his robes with one hand.

Slowly relaxing as the room warmed up, Draco eased out of the rest of his clothes and joined Harry on the tub's edge. He lightly touched the water a few times, dipping in his hand when he grew more confident of its temperature.

"Go on," Harry prompted. "It's fine."

A touch too hot, but Draco didn't think it worth arguing over. He eased into the tub, sinking a few inches at a time as he adjusted to the heat. Gradually settling down, he curled up in the corner and gathered water in his hands, covering his face as he whispered the prayer that cleansed excess dark magic. Drops of blood and darkness clouded the water, then disappeared.

More water sloshed over the side as Harry came in, groaning at how hot he'd made it. He moved behind Draco and put a hand on his shoulder, gently turning him.

"You sure you didn't get cut?" Harry gathered water up to Draco's hair and the side of his face, rinsing blood and sweat. "There was a lot of glass lying around."

"None of it's mine," Draco murmured.

"Mm. Why'd you come back?" Harry ran his fingers through Draco's hair, soaking it until it looked blonde again. "Why didn't you stay here where it's safe?"

Now with him at his side, Draco knew the answer he couldn't think of before. Harry was there. He didn't reply, though, lying still and letting the water lap against his throat.

"You're too quiet," Harry said.

The comment made Draco think of the ruined opera house and the witches and wizards still slumped in their chairs. He'd seen death before, but where those incidents had frightened him, this night hadn't. Instead he felt a deep, hollow emptiness inside of himself.

"Why are you so calm?" he whispered harshly. "I don't want to fight another war--how can you be so bloody calm--?"

"Because I'm getting used to not being able to spend a boring hour at an opera," Harry said over him, cutting off his rant before he could get going. "The Boy Who Lived can't go anywhere without something terrible happening. Last year was just icing on top."

Draco lowered his eyes. "A lot of that was my fault."

"No," Harry said. "It's not your fault people tried to hurt you. But yes, keeping you safe is a full-time job." He tightened his grip on Draco and sank a few more inches into the water, relishing the warmth. "Hasn't gotten easier, either."

Draco wished he could relax, but tonight the hot water felt cold. He turned onto his side so he could put his arms around Harry, closing his eyes as he felt the return embrace. Firelight glimmered on the water's surface, reflected on the walls in orange streaks.

"We could've died tonight," he whispered.

No answer. Harry couldn't reassure him when they both knew it was true.

They lay together listening to the water and watching the moon through the window. The house was silent, although Draco heard crickets chirping outside. They sounded miles away. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend everything was miles away, and nothing existed except Harry and the water.

The knock on the door startled Draco, but Harry held him tight until he recognized the voice asking them for permission to enter. Draco grumbled under his breath. Malfoy elves were forbidden to simply appear in the bathrooms.

"Come in, Filly," Harry called out. With a softer voice, he nuzzled Draco's ear. "Don't want to blast your mother's elf, do you? She'd be crushed."

Draco didn't answer, casting a wary eye on Filly as she came in.

Like the other Malfoy elves, Filly had gone feral during her time with Narcissa in the wilderness. She'd finally replaced her vines with a torn pillowcase, but her fangs and claws had not fully retracted yet and she crept rather than cowered, her eyes always focusing on anything that moved. Draco thought she acted like a predator stalking its prey.

"The mistress wants Masters Draco and Harry downstairs," Filly said, a growl lingering in her mouth. "She says there's wizards coming and yous gots to look decent."

"Damn," Draco cursed under his breath. "Father must've demanded a meeting. God, couldn't this have waited 'till morning?"

"Technically it is," Harry said. "Filly, could you bring us clean clothes please?"

Draco grumbled but didn't argue as Harry wriggled out from under him, leaving the tub to dry off. A moment later Harry held the towel open in invitation. Tempted to beg off saying that he was sick or nauseous, Draco merely scowled and got to his feet. Although he teased his husband for his muggle habits, having Harry towel him off was one he didn't mind.

After Filly brought their clothes and left again, Draco reluctantly dressed, deliberately lacing up his pants and doing each button. Halfway through, he grimaced and turned slightly to one side. He liked to make Harry do things for him, especially dressing and undressing him, and not just because his fingers were too weak. He huffed when Harry came up behind him, reaching around and finishing Draco's robes for him.

"Everyone else will be tired and sore and in shock," Harry whispered in his ear. "It won't last long. And then we'll go to bed and I'll talk to you until you fall asleep."

"I'm sorry," Draco said softly. "I promised to talk to you tonight, before everything happened."

"There'll be time later," Harry said. "Ready?"

Lingering against him for one last moment, Draco stepped in front of the mirror and looked at himself, smoothing back his damp hair and straightening his clothes. He took a breath and stared into his grey eyes, standing straight and squaring his shoulders. He raised his head, then paused and glanced up at Harry's reflection.

"You'll stay awake 'till I fall asleep?" he asked.

Harry nodded.

Draco almost smiled.

Downstairs, they joined a small crowd in the parlor. Narcissa looked as if she hadn't lived through an explosion, speaking with Lucius. Tea had been served on the table where Dumbledore sat with Severus while the Prime Minister conversed with Shacklebolt, and they all looked up when they heard the two youngest enter.

"Harry, Draco," Lucius said with a nod. "You're both all right?"

So his father knew he'd returned to the opera house against orders. Draco smothered his wince as he chose a free spot at the edge of the parlor, leaning against the bookshelves.

"Yes, father, thank you."

An awkward pause settled on the room. Everyone had questions, but no one wanted to ask something that might offend the other half of the room and potentially send the meeting spiraling into arguing. Narcissa turned just enough to face most of the room, drawing attention to herself without having to announce herself.

"Do we know who was hurt?" she asked.

Though he was right beside her, Shacklebolt answered to the room. "It looks like both sides were hit pretty evenly. It'll take awhile before things settle down enough that we can take a head count, but the whole audience was struck."

"As were the performers," Severus added. "I believe they were the first removed to St. Mungo's."

"It's lucky any of us escaped injury," Scrimgeour said.

Lucius leaned against his desk, tapping the edge as he thought. "More lucky than we know, perhaps. Severus and I managed to cast two separate scellean impervius spells over our balcony. The crystal tore right through them."

Scrimgeour frowned in confusion. "But then how--?"

"Because Harry cast his own protego spell after us," Lucius answered. "His spell saved our lives, not our own."

"But..." Shacklebolt mused. "Most of the audience was made of light wizards. They would've cast protego spells, too."

"If they had time to draw their wands," Lucius said. "We also don't know how strong their spells would have been. Harry is used to combat by now, and we all know he's exceptionally powerful."

"So," Dumbledore started, "designed to tear through a dark spell yet powerful enough to perhaps destroy light spells. Even at this early juncture, I would hazard a guess that whoever did this was targeting both communities.

Severus laughed once, bitterly. "Very few people approve of the recent reconciliation between the light and dark."

"Unfortunately," Lucius aid slowly, "we may have worse problems than this attack."

Severus straightened and looked sharply at him. "Lucius..."

"We don't have a choice." The Malfoy patriarch looked Scrimgeour straight in the eye. "If you examine that chandelier and the windows that exploded, I believe you will find it to be the same dark spell that plagued Hogwarts for a time."

Dumbledore beat Scrimgeour to the question. "You refer to the sabotage at the school, when a window exploded as Harry walked by?"

"Yes. From our inspection, the spell looked the same as the dark lord's."

Scrimgeour glared at both Severus and Lucius, clearly torn between asking for more information or punishing them for tampering with the chandelier, before aurors could look at it and while people were injured. His political duty won out over his temper.

"You recognize this as a Death Eater's spell?" he asked.

Lucius nodded once.

"Then you believe this is the work of You-Know--of Voldemort's remaining followers?" Scrimgeour growled under his breath in growing frustration. "We're still trying to identify who died during the massacre of Hogsmeade and the battle at Hogwarts. None of us knows who's still alive and following Voldemort's crusade."

"I do not think that the Death Eaters are Mr. Malfoy's main concern," Dumbledore said. He set his tea down as he thought. "They are dangerous, yes, but only insofar as they can strike handfuls of the wizarding world at a time. The true danger is that they might inflame the passions of other wizards who have deep feelings against allowing the dark community to come out of hiding. Passions which, I'm afraid, need little outside influence to stir them up, and which may have some legitimate cause."

"Tread carefully," Lucius said lowly. "You walk on shaky ground there. There hasn't been a true night ride against you for over fifty years."

"Well within our lifetime, though," Scrimgeour said. "The people who died then still have living relatives who remember."

"We considered it a war of defense against you," Lucius said as his words grew clipped and agitated. "Don't expect any apologies."

Scrimgeour tugged on his beard thoughtfully. "You said that Voldemort subsumed the Knights of Walpurgis. Were the masks his idea as well?"

Masks for a dark wizard were merely an extension of the shadows they lived in. To the light, however, they were symbols of cowardice. For a moment Draco was sure there would be a fight. His father's eyes were narrowed like a snake about to strike, his teeth bared like fangs. Draco fought down his own urge to retreat upstairs or draw his wand, knowing that would trigger a duel for sure.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and half-smiled to himself. Harry. He'd almost forgotten his husband was there.

Noticing how tense the men had grown, Dumbledore cleared his throat and stood, taking a few steps into the middle of the room. He waited to make sure he had everyone's attention before speaking.

"I think Scrimgeour has unintentionally happened upon the true heart of the matter. The wizarding world has only a handful of Daily Prophet articles and Ministry documents to inform them about dark magic, beyond their children's books. What Severus and I have been speaking about and which I think would help matters greatly is a way to educate society more broadly."

While the Ministry officials looked at him in confusion, the Malfoy family including Harry all looked at Severus, who bowed his head slightly in deference.

"He means a course of study," Snape explained. "Dark history, dark theory perhaps."

"Teach them our spells?" Narcissa asked in a whisper, staring at him in disbelief. "Without a proper apprenticeship?"

"No, of course not," Severus assured her without any sarcasm. "But I would rather see them learn about us from us than from their storytellers."

Lucius paused. "I suppose we could permit it. As long as only our most basic spells are displayed."

"If at all," Scrimgeour said. "I don't know that we should allow dark spells to be taught, simply for safety's sake. You yourself have said your spells are dangerous."

"I taught them for a little while," Draco said. "No one seemed hurt then."

"In any case," Dumbledore said before anyone could speak, "that will be decided upon once the school is properly rebuilt, which won't be for awhile yet. In the meantime, however, something a little less ambitious might suit our purposes nicely."

"What did you have in mind?" Scrimgeour asked.

"A lecture series, I think," Dumbledore said. "To cover the basics--history, beliefs, that sort of thing."

A sick anticipation welled up in Draco. The old wizard was up to something, he knew it, but he couldn't tell what.

"When?" Lucius asked. "Where?"

"When and where should come after we decide on who," Dumbledore said as his smile broadened. "As for that, I think we have our answer right in front of us. As he said, young Mr. Malfoy did already teach something quite similar. Only his audience would change."

Draco froze, staring at the wizard until he remembered that he must never look into Dumbledore's eyes. He wrenched his head away and focused on the carpet pattern.

"Oh, is that all?" Draco breathed. "We're afraid some of these wizards might try to kill us, but I should just walk blithely in front of them and hope for the best?"

When it seemed that Dumbledore would press him further, Narcissa stepped closer to her son.

"The Ministry's security is never foolproof," she said, anticipating his argument. "There is no way you could guarantee his safety."

Unfazed, Dumbledore looked at her in genuine curiosity. "Could you?"

She opened her mouth to snap at him, then closed it thoughtfully. Tilting her head, she glanced at her husband from the corner of her eye.

"We might," Lucius answered for her. "There are a few gathering places we use on occasion. If we are permitted to ward it properly, we could keep it safe for all concerned."

Eyes widening, Draco began to fear that they would make him do this. His father was clearly adding this into his long term plans, his mother was scheming alongside him, and it had been Severus' idea in the first place. His last hope lay somehow with Harry, and he turned and looked up at him for help.

"Don't worry," Harry whispered, "I'll be with you the whole time."

Not what he wanted to hear. Hopes dashed, Draco slowly faced the parlor again and sighed.

"Wonderful."

Draco didn't pay much attention to the rest of the meeting, but it ended soon after that. Once the last guest had left, he let his shoulders slump and leaned back against Harry. He was vaguely aware of his mother sitting down by Severus and putting her hand on his.

"Draco," Lucius said, wearily glancing at him with half-shut eyes. "We can discuss this more fully in the morning, but...you need not decide tonight. Although I would feel more confident with you doing this, the fact remains that it will be dangerous. This is your choice alone."

Not fair. Draco felt the old urge to whine and stomp his foot. If his father had ordered him to do it, Draco could have complained and ranted and declared the entire world against him. But given the choice and the responsibility of knowing how much his father counted on him, he still had no choice. Well, no choice except between maturity and childishness.

"I don't want to," Draco said softly. "But I will."

"Decide tomorrow," Lucius repeated, but he nodded once in relief. "I think we'll take tomorrow off in any case. Let the healers and aurors find out what they can before we act."

Small consolation, but Draco would not say no to sleeping in. He bid his parents good night and returned upstairs, unbuttoning his robes and dropping them on the floor as he walked. Harry grumbled and picked up after him, but Draco didn't bother telling him to let the elves clean up. Harry always picked up, a bad habit Draco wondered where he'd developed. He stepped out of his shoes and pants along the way, and Harry's grumbling stopped.

The candle on the nightstand came to life as they entered their bed chambers. Draco constantly looked forward to the day when the manor was rebuilt and he would have a decent room again. Although the cottage served its purpose, he wanted his walk in closet, his private bath and his own study again.

But the bed was adequate, at least. He pulled the blankets back and sank onto the cool sheets, turning on his side and nestling up to one of the pillows.

"You rotten brat," Harry said without any anger. "You're right in the middle of the bed again."

A moment later Harry slid behind him, nudging Draco over and forcing him to turn onto his other side. Draco obeyed like a rag doll, his eyes already drowsily unfocused.

"Harry," Draco mumbled, letting himself be arranged to his husband's liking. "Why're you always cleaning? You're not an elf."

"I know," Harry said softly. He stroked his hair and snuck kisses as he spoke. "Just habit, I guess. Back with the muggles I used to live with, I didn't use magic often. Cleaned by hand. Good thing, too, or else you'd be living in complete squalor."

"But Filly can..."

"Filly has enough to do with the house and getting back to normal than cleaning up after a messy Malfoy." He pulled the blankets up and settled in, and after a few seconds of no movement, the candle went extinguished itself. In the darkness, he gently reached out and found Draco's shoulder, then put his arm around him.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Don't you ever get scared?"

"I used to," Harry said. "Not anymore, not really. Just nervous sometimes. 'Sides, in a fight, I'm too busy to be afraid."

"Oh."

"Why?"

Draco closed his eyes. "...sometimes it feels like I have to be scared for both of us."

"Foolish Gryffindor bravery? Then I can be brave for both of us." Harry kissed Draco's hair, smiling when he heard his husband's deep, rhythmic breathing. He closed his eyes and breathed out. "Good night, love."


	3. Wherein war returns to Hogsmeade

Almost every morning, Harry woke up first, but anxiety woke Draco well before he wanted to. He blamed the strip of sunlight that just happened to fall over his face, but even turning and burrowing deeper into the blankets didn't help. How early was it? He refused to get up. Even though he was wide awake, he put his arm and leg over Harry and squeezed his eyes tight.

Something heavy thumped on his back, followed by a rustle of feathers behind him. The Daily Prophet, Draco realized, which he wasn't in the mood for. When Draco didn't react, his owl hooted and nudged the small of his back. Draco grumbled and scooted closer to Harry.

"I'll give you treats later, Ilmauzer," he mumbled. "I'm tired--"

He grunted as the eagle owl nudged him harder, with enough force that he bumped Harry. About to turn and shove his owl off the bed, he froze when he felt Harry shift, groaning as he woke and slowly sitting up.

"Now look what you did, stupid owl." Draco readjusted to pillow his head on Harry's lap.

"He just wants a treat for bringing your newspaper in," Harry said, yawning and stroking the eagle owl's feathers. "Isn't that right? Good thing I'm here, Ilmauzer, or else you would've starved by now."

Draco spoke over his owl's answering hoot. "They've already had breakfast. Filly feeds him and Hedwig and Kiskil and Grim--don't indulge him, you'll spoil him."

"Sad no one ever thought about that with you," Harry said, running his free hand through Draco's hair. "You gonna sleep all day?"

"Yes," Draco snapped, "and you're staying with me even if I have to stun you."

Harry's laugh didn't improve Draco's mood, but at least he made no move to leave the bed. Harry opened the nightstand and gave the owl a tidbit. A second later, Ilmauzer flew back out the window and Harry waved it shut again. He had to lean over Draco to grab the Daily Prophet, sitting back against the headboard as he opened the paper.

Draco waited for him to start reading aloud. When he didn't hear anything, he craned his head enough to see the edge of the paper near his face.

"What's the headline?" he asked.

"Opera House Attack," Harry read. He paused, curling Draco's hair around his fingers. "Want me to read it to you?"

"If you don't mind..." Draco murmured.

Harry snorted but read anyway. "An attack at Bredgett Opera House left seventeen dead and seventy three injured during last night's performance of La Candela di Maledizioni. Few details are known at this time. The crystal chandelier above the audience exploded and sent fragments of crystal slivers flying like knives into the people below. Those who escaped injury either fled or began apparating the wounded to St. Mungo's.

In a sign of new cooperation, Ministry Aurors worked side by side with Knights of Walpurgis, their dark wizard equivalents. Despite generations of fighting and ill-will, practitioners of both dark and light saved countless wizards and witches on each side.

No one has claimed responsibility for the blast, but an anonymous source in the Ministry reported that the spell that made the chandelier explode is similar to those used by Death Eaters. Our source would not reveal who examined the chandelier and recognized the spell, except to say that former Death Eaters made the identification. Although this raises questions about the level of trust the Ministry places in former enemies, perhaps some comfort can be taken in their willingness to put aside the past and work with the light.

If our readers have any information about the explosion or the whereabouts of the remnants of Voldemort's Death Eaters..."

Harry paused, thinking for so long that Draco grew curious and turned just enough to see him from the corner of his eye. His husband didn't often grow contemplative.

"How many Knights does your father have?" Harry asked.

"Around thirty-five," Draco said, laying down again. This wasn't something he or his father liked to think about.

"Thirty five?" Harry repeated. "Is that all? It seems like so much more..."

"Most families can only give one person," Draco said. "Maybe if the light wizards don't turn against us, we might gain more Knights over time. But for now, our family is unique in that there's three of us."

"Mm..." Harry absently stroked Draco's hair, letting the paper fold down in his lap. "I thought your mother was a Knight."

"Mother's--different. She commands us when father isn't here, but otherwise she doesn't do anything." Draco pushed himself up and stretched until his whole body went taught, then relaxed bonelessly across Harry's legs and waist, scrunching the paper under himself. "S'better that way. Otherwise they'd argue all the time."

Harry didn't reply, too busy trying to tug the newspaper out from under Draco without tearing it. Steadfastly refusing to move, Draco wondered about the way his father ran the Knights. Having his wife as second in command was a break with tradition. The second was usually the next eldest Knight. But dark wizards were used to scattering for survival, and Draco understood the need for absolute trust, too. He loved his parents and cared about his friends, but he trusted his life to Harry. If his life depended on the casting of a spell, he wanted the wand in Harry's hand.

A pop by the door made them both snap to attention, but they relaxed when they saw Filly, who took a small step back as they looked at her. Draco let out a small sigh when he saw that. If she was getting back her old fear, then she was slowly losing her feral nature. He'd be happy when her claws shrank.

"The mistress is saying to tell you that breakfast is served," she said.

"Oh good," Draco said, his voice muffled by the covers as he lay down again. "Breakfast in bed sounds nice."

Filly made a small noise that sounded like she'd swallowed something sour. "Filly's sorry, master, but the mistress is also saying that we's isn't unciv'lized, and that meals is taken at the table or not at all."

Slowly raising his head with wide eyes, Draco's voice choked in indignation.

"'Not at all'? When did that happen? After all the times I ate alone because they were too busy--what about father's late mornings or mother's beauty sleep--"

"Please tell her we'll be right down," Harry said, dismissing Filly so she didn't have to wait for his tantrum to end. She disappeared before Draco could order her to ignore Harry, and Draco glared at him in betrayal.

"We're already awake," Harry explained, sliding out from under him and heading for the dresser. "You might as well get up."

"Bloody morning person." Draco flopped back onto the bed and grabbed the blankets, curling around them. "I could make you keep decent hours, you know. There are potions for that."

"Considering your hours, you'd have to make me nocturnal." Harry quickly dressed, and he tossed Draco's clothes beside him as he opened and closed each drawer.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Draco refused to move. "S'proper hours for a potions master. Almost everything we need is best picked at night. Roots, flowers, sleeping muggles..."

"If you can try to bait me, you're wide awake," Harry said. "Get up. Time for breakfast, and then we can go to Diagon Alley."

"I--Diagon Alley?" Draco poked his head out from behind the covers. "Really? It's not a joke to get me up?"

"We need to get a wedding present for Hermione and Ron," Harry said, standing in front of the mirror to get the buttons on his robes right. He ignored Draco's dismissive tsk. "And you always want something from that dark book shop."

Abandoning his blankets, Draco leaned up on his elbows and watched him for a moment. "Are you offering to go to Sortileja's with me?"

"...yes."

Harry kept his voice even, but Draco heard the difference. He knew when his husband forced himself to sound normal. Draco frowned. Harry sounded different every time he mentioned Nocturne Alley and all the all its dark shops. Even in its most innocent candy store, his husband was wary. But to be fair, The Devil's Delights carried things like caramel poison toadstools, hard candy eyes that blinked before you bit into them, and still-beating hearts coated in chocolate.

Lost in thought, Draco slowly sat up and put on his pants and socks, then pulled on his robe. It became form fitting as the buttons fastened with a gesture of his hand, following his fingertips up to the collar.

"You suddenly went quiet," Harry said from the other side of the bed. "Are you all right?"

"Just thinking," Draco replied slowly. "You've been practicing our spells for months. And living with us for half as long. If you're still nervous around dark magic, I can't imagine this insane lecture idea working out very well."

"It will work," Harry said. At Draco's disbelieving snort, he came around and stood in front of him, looking into his gray eyes.

Draco straightened and held his breath, meeting Harry's gaze without flinching and holding still as Harry touched his cheek, letting him inch closer. So hard to allow him this close without turning away or closing his eyes. His memory of being violated, his torn thoughts and burned emotions, ached even now. His occlumancy would never be strong enough to defend himself against Harry's legilimancy, and he felt that vulnerability every time they shared a look, when Harry became the snake mesmerizing him like prey.

"You trust me with this," Harry said softly.

Frightened--and even without looking into him, Harry had to see his fear--Draco nonetheless nodded.

"Then believe me," Harry said. "It will work."

Lowering his gaze, Harry released him and touched his collar, trailing his palm beside the line of buttons on his robe. The touch paradoxically made Draco feel naked and he leaned closer, listening to Harry's breath beside his ear.

"Your magic does scare me a little," Harry whispered. "But only because it's so intense. It feeds off you. I worry you'll lose yourself in it."

Smiling, Draco turned slightly and pressed a kiss to Harry's throat, hooking his fingers in his husband's loose robes and pulling the cloth down to reveal more skin.

"Not if I'm careful," he replied. "Not as long as you're there."

"Always," Harry said, trying to catch his breath as it ran away from him. With ease born from practice, he plucked open Draco's robe, then moved his hand back behind his neck to hold him still, pressing him close. "My bad faith...false dragon..."

By the time they finally made it out of the bedroom, Draco was sure they'd missed breakfast entirely. Redoing his buttons and looking over his shoulder at Harry to ask if he'd done them up wrong, Draco rushed down the stairs as fast as he could without sounding like he was stomping down each step.

"Sorry we're late, we lost time talking and--"

He froze in the doorway. Something was wrong. His father, his mother were seated, but--Severus was not at the table. Draco looked around to see if Severus was at the bookshelves or at the hearth--

"He's outside," Narcissa said. "In the garden."

About to ask why, Draco thought better of it and kept his mouth shut. Best to stay out of arguments between his parents. Then he noticed that his father had finished breakfast already and was standing to leave.

"I'm afraid I'll be indisposed for the next few days," Lucius said, pushing a strand of hair from his eyes. "Your mother is in charge until then. Try to stay out of trouble."

"Yes, father," Draco said, nudging Harry in the ribs to remind him to nod as Lucius left, disappearing upstairs.

"Indisposed," their way of referring to their time spent forced into a half-serpent shape, the result of their ancestors crossbreeding themselves with wyverns. Draco wished he could tell when he was about to transform. Every time Draco had to shed his skin, he only knew he was transforming when his teeth turned to fangs and his tongue became forked. After that, his skin became scales in a rush. If he was lucky, he made it to a pool or bathtub before his tail formed.

As Harry sat down, visibly relieved not to have Lucius nearby, Draco hesitated by his chair, first glancing at the table, then at the window.

"Of course you may go," Narcissa said before he could ask. "I took the liberty of having Filly set your breakfast in the garden. And I've been hoping to speak with Harry in private for awhile. You don't mind, do you, dear?"

"Um..." Harry's eyes opened wide and he looked at Draco, who offered no help, and then Narcissa again. "No, I don't mind."

Leaving Harry to the merciful clutches of his mother, Draco went outside. Any dark wizard would have recognized the garden as belonging to one of their own if for no other reason than the lack of snow. White flurries simply fluttered away, leaving a patch of grass ringing the house.

The garden couldn't rival the one that used to thrive around the manor, but Severus and Narcissa had been planting and tending all sorts of herbs and poisons to replenish their destroyed supplies. Belladonna, hemlock, and other poisons filled the flower beds, while clover grew in thick clumps around the house. Fairy rings of mushrooms sprung up near the edges of the yard, which made Draco wonder what his parents had buried to encourage them. And mistletoe threatened to choke one of the yew trees, beneath which he spotted his former master.

Severus sat at the garden table, absently sorting piles with one hand. An assortment of bottles covered the table, but he made no move to fill them. Though his stare was fixed on the house, Severus' eyes didn't seem to focus on anything.

Draco paused, wondering if he should join him. Severus rarely fell into quiet moods, and they were never a good thing.

"You might as well have a seat," Severus said, still staring at nothing. "I know you're there. You can help sort these, at least."

Chewing his lip, Draco came closer and sat in the other chair, uncorking the remaining bottles. For a few minutes they separated the plants, brushed off damp soil still clinging to the roots, and stripped leaves and petals. While they worked, Filly appeared and set his breakfast plate onto the table, vanishing as Draco nudged the plate aside. The last thing they needed was food spilling across the hemlock.

"Did your parents send you after me?" Severus finally asked.

"No," Draco answered. "At least I don't think so, but with mother, there's never a way to tell."

Severus nodded once without reply.

Another minute passed. As he corked a bottle of henbane, Draco glanced sideways at Severus.

"Did you and mother have a fight?" he mumbled, rushing the words out before they could catch in his throat. "Or was it...?"

Draco couldn't even mention his father. Severus sighed and glanced at the windows again to make sure no one was eavesdropping. There was a flutter of a curtain on the second floor, as of a hand suddenly drawn back, but Severus didn't pay it any attention. Lucius might be watching, but he certainly couldn't hear.

"We did not have a fight," Severus said. "None of us did. We simply had to change some of our more long-term plans."

He didn't elaborate. Draco waited for him to go on, biding his time as he sorted poisons and nibbled at his breakfast, but when it became clear that Severus wasn't going to continue, Draco had to resort to delicate prodding.

"Long term?" he asked. "Is it because of Harry and me?"

Severus paused, resuming his bottling after he ordered his thoughts.

"It...only tangentially," Severus finally said, studying the nightshade in his hand more than necessary. "I will not be returning to Hogwarts after it is rebuilt."

The only reason Draco didn't drop the bottle in his hands was because he nearly cracked it in his grip. Not return? Severus was best situated to watch Dumbledore and the Ministry's dealings at the school, especially when they weren't reported to the school governors.

"But Hogwarts won't be rebuilt until next season," Draco asked in a rush. " Are you sure--?"

"Quite," Snape cut him off.

Draco's mouth snapped shut. Severus' tone made it clear he didn't want to be questioned. Draco set the bottle down before he broke it and stared at the grass, too nervous to say anything.

"Really, it's for the best," Severus said softly. "I will be able to work more directly with Lucius and Narcissa. And no more whining children. No more second guessing the headmaster behind his back in his own school. The Ministry won't be able to watch me so openly."

And all of that might be true, Draco thought, but there had to be an unspoken, true reason--

Dumbledore.

Draco turned the idea over in his head. The more he thought about it, the more obvious his parents' reasoning became. Dumbledore was not to be trusted, and despite Snape's paranoia, his master had developed a weakness in confiding with the old wizard. Last night's sudden idea of exposing themselves to the rest of the world, and worse, serving up Draco as their representative, must have been the last twig off the broom.

His parents allowed his endless scheming, but only if he never crafted plans with anyone else. Their dark blood was too mistrusting, too suspicious of outside interference.

Still, there were other things they could have used him on, research or ingredient gathering in far off lands. The family was used to him being gone for the entire school year, so time apart would have been easy to get used to again. Draco finished filling a bottle of twisting, curling tanglevine roots as he wracked his brain over his father's reasoning. As he corked the bottle tight, he understood.

Severus had been in Hogwarts with Draco. Now he would be home with Draco. He didn't think that was entirely due to his mother's worries for her son's safety. No, there was only one pressing reason to keep two potions masters in the same house.

"Oh God," Draco groaned, "how soon do they expect me to start brewing a child?"

Finishing with his own ingredients, Severus gave a low laugh and gathered the bottles together.

"I was wondering when you'd figure it out. I'm glad it didn't take you long." After summoning an elf to whisk away the remnants of his breakfast, Severus gathered their work into a basket and stood.

"We only just got married," Draco said, his voice creeping towards a whine. "Does she really want to be a grandmother so soon?"

"She's been wanting grandchildren since you were in diapers," Severus said. "Besides, if you were from any other family, you wouldn't have had all this time anyway. Even a Malfoy can use politics as an excuse only for so long."

"I was hoping to put it off a little longer," Draco said. "It takes so long to make a child, and you can't go anywhere while you do it. How did other wizards manage?"

"Many times they didn't," Severus said, glancing back at him. "You don't have to start yet. Narcissa and Lucius wish to wait until the manor is rebuilt so we don't have to risk moving the cauldron. I suggest you use the time to acclimate Potter to this new revelation."

Draco snorted. "That two wizards marrying is no excuse not to have children?"

"Not to our kind, in any case. But I'm glad he hasn't asked before now."

"Why?"

"He was raised by muggles," Severus said, carefully choosing his words. "And muggles--as I've come to understand--wouldn't view your relationship as we do."

Draco didn't care what the muggle vermin thought one way or the other, but that brought up something he'd wanted to discuss for months now. He simply hadn't had a good opening, and Severus' mixed parentage required delicate handling. Although his lineage demanded that anyone in his family be pure, he accepted that the taint on blood sometimes came more from culture than birth. And cultures could be renounced.

"Sev'," he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "Muggle opinions will never matter to me. Their world is vile and should be shunned. Your opinion, however, I will always hold in high regard. I was fortunate enough to be blessed with three pureblood parents."

For a moment Severus didn't move. Didn't speak. For his master who always had a comeback, the effect was unnerving, and he glanced sideways to make sure he wasn't about to be jinxed. Instead Snape's eyes were wide, not so much in surprise as in wonder.

"Sev'?"

"I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing that from a Malfoy," Severus whispered.

"Third time?" Draco asked, breathing out in relief. Had to be the third. His parents knew, but he didn't think his grandfather would have. Previous generations hadn't shown any flexibility about blood.

"Third time," Severus nodded once, and some of the wonder left his face and he glared at Draco. "And the third time I didn't tell anyone. How the hell did you find out?"

Though tempted to enjoy Snape's discomfort, he sat straight and faced him.

"Potter found an old potion's book with some rather genius notes in the margins, and the name Half Blood Prince scrawled inside. Fortunately he doesn't have our education in bloodlines." Draco shrugged. "I don't think anyone else would've realized it. Mother made sure I knew your family tapestry."

"She knows the lineages best," Severus murmured, briefly setting down the basket as he paused. "Draco, this goes no further. Potter wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut."

"Not if he got angry," Draco agreed. "I promise. Besides, I have to get him used to the idea of a child first."

"I don't think he'll mind all that much," Severus said. "He's always struck me as someone who likes a large family."

"Oh yes, rub it in a bit more," Draco muttered. "If we could, I'd be stuck in the basement brewing children for years."

"I don't think it'll be that bad," Severus said, rising and turning to leave. "By the way, where does Potter keep that book?"

Draco shook his head. "I'll get it for you. If Harry finds out you were in our room, we'll be sleeping by the pond again."

Not that spending a night or two by the pond was unpleasant. A handful of times, he'd taken Harry back to bower of vines that served on their marriage night, but waking up damp from dew with the occasional bug creeping across his leg made him happy to see his bed again.

Pushing aside the rest of his breakfast, Draco leaned back in his chair and enjoyed having the garden to himself, putting his feet up on the table. How to tell Harry they were going to have children? Severus was right. Harry would be happy to have children, but it was the how of it, the way dark families created their children when nature failed...he worried what his husband would think. And would it affect how he saw Draco?

He was no closer to his answers when someone leaned close behind him and held him, pressing a kiss to his ear that made him smile and shy away.

"Stop that, it tickles!"

"Oh no, you don't." Harry tipped his chair backward a few more inches, effectively trapping him. "You left me all alone. With your mother. Your mother!"

"Didn't go easy on you, did she?" Draco grinned. "Let me down, you're going to drop me."

"It'd serve you right," Harry said, giving the chair a wobble and making him yelp. "She asked me how we're doing, how I'm adjusting, what life was like with muggles--not that she wasn't nice about it, but I still felt like it was an interrogation."

"It was," Draco said. He put his hands over Harry's head and pulled him down for a kiss, hoping he'd keep the chair steady. When he let him pull back, he didn't release him but held his face inches away. "Mother likes you, but that just means that when she manipulates you, it's for your own good."

Harry frowned. "I don't like being manipulated. I thought everyone knew that after I made your father yell."

"They know. Doesn't mean they won't try." Draco sighed. "Please don't be mad. We're Malfoys. It's our nature. It--it's the only way we know to keep safe."

"I know..." Harry's frown vanished into a rueful smile. "I suppose that's a good thing, then. I'm part of the family if they're trying to keep me safe."

"A very good thing," Draco said. He shrieked when his husband pretended to drop the chair only to set it right again. "Very funny. And they all think I'm the brat of this family."

"You are. A very fun to play with brat."

Stretching as he stood, Draco stepped close to Harry, purring as he was held. Harry's robes felt soft and swallowed him up whenever Harry put his arm around him. It was just the contrast to his own robes that made him feel that way, but he loved the feeling nonetheless.

When Harry let him go, they were in Diagon Alley.

Magic and snow couldn't erase all the signs of war. They'd washed away the blood, buried their dead and burned all the dead giants, hags and other creatures, but scorch marks covered the alley where spells had blasted dark blotches across the shops. Deep gouges in the cobblestones showed where sharp claws had dug in, scraping by as something chased its prey.

Not content with the vampires or werewolves long held in disdain by the light, Voldemort had summoned creatures hidden even deeper in the dark. Only a rawhead's long arms could reach into a second story window for a screaming child, its claws scratching into the frame. Only a black annis made such deep punctures in stone, using her nails for purchase on the smooth surface as she moved.

With the dark lord dead, his monsters had disappeared, but people still walked by and shuddered at what they left behind.

Before they joined the crowd, Draco put up the hood of his robe. It gave him some small sense of security, as if he could hide from the rest of the world behind a thin layer of cloth. Harry always accompanied him here, but everyone knew the Boy Who Lived and stared at his dark husband, either in curiosity or hostility. His hood blocked out their looks, if not the whispers that followed after.

As they headed for their first stop, Scribbulus Everchanging Inks, Draco took comfort in the handful of other dark wizards in Diagon Alley. Some of the other families, following the Malfoys' lead, had revealed themselves at his wedding and now nervously shopped wearing their own hoods. In coming into public, Draco liked to think he was serving two purposes, shopping for much needed sweets and reassuring the dark community that his family hadn't abandoned them. If Draco was willing to share in the risk, the other dark wizards felt much better about their own choice.

People turned and stared when they walked into the shop. Conversations stopped until the owner and a few customers smiled at Harry and called him over. Draco didn't follow. They wanted to reassure themselves that Harry hadn't changed or been cursed, and behind their friendly smiles were wary eyes watching him near the back of the store.

Draco browsed their best merchandise. A stack of fine paper and a handful of parchment rolls, and then on to sample the quills. His family went through stationery like water, writing letters and RSVPs and potion recipes until their hands cramped and refused to unclench properly. Running his fingertip along the edge of a long feather, he tested its edge and then its tip. Good self-inking quills, in his opinion, were worth their weight in gold.

Browsing by the shelves of good quills neatly displayed in their own boxes, unlike the quills filling barrels near the door, he paused in front of a writing desk nestled in the corner. It resembled the one lost when their home burned, and he lightly touched the top, imagining where the quills would stand, where the inkwell would sit, how he would fill the tiny drawers with notes, envelopes, a quill knife, a wax stick for the seals.

Footsteps came towards him, picking through the clutter. "You've been wanting a desk again, haven't you?"

Sighing, Draco nodded.

Harry pressed close behind him, whispering in his ear. "It might fit in the corner of our bedroom."

"No," Draco said mournfully. "There'd be no room for the chair. The cottage was built for short holidays, not for working. I'll just have to use the table like mother and Sev until the manor's rebuilt."

"If your family spends any more time cooped up in that parlor, I think you all may start throwing things at each other."

Draco laughed and pressed his hand to his mouth to stifle himself. Inwardly he agreed, and he hoped it happened at dinner, not when they were writing. Flying mashed potatoes hurt a lot less than a flying paperweight.

"When I have my own chambers again," Draco promised himself. "Our chambers. Then I'll have my desk again. And my own potions workshop, and--"

He broke off, reminded of what he would soon have to create. And of course Harry noticed how he hesitated and turned him around to face him. Draco dragged his feet and stared at the corner, aware that the store had once again fallen silent as people listened to their conversation.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked, brushing his fingertips under Draco's jaw and bringing his look up. "Is it something bad?"

"No, nothing bad," Draco rushed to assure him. "But it's...delicate. Time consuming. I should have brought it up before, but I didn't think it was going to happen so soon."

About to ask another question, Harry closed his mouth and took a step back. Not now, not here. A few months with Draco had taught him to keep quiet unless they were alone.

"I'll go pay," Harry said. "Wait for me outside?"

Draco nodded once and handed over his handful of parchments, leaving before Harry reached the register. He had no doubt the whole store was watching, but watching approvingly, glad to see Draco obedient to his husband. In a way, Draco was glad for the display. Let them see how he listened to Harry, how he wasn't a threat. Either they would relax around him or they would underestimate him. He could use both.

He waited beneath the shop's overhang, kicking at the snow. When Harry came out, Draco didn't move. His husband didn't have any bags, so he'd sent their purchases home by owl or elf. Wonderful. He had his husband's full attention. He didn't mind that in bed, but when Harry had questions with uncomfortable answers, Draco wished he could distract him with something else.

"All right," Harry said, stopping in front of him and smiling to take the edge off his words. "What's the latest secret? I believe you that it isn't bad, but looks like it's enough to make you nervous."

"I..." Draco hesitated, looking down the street. The bright colored umbrellas over the cafe tables looked so inviting, especially as his stomach rumbled and reminded him that he hadn't eaten much of breakfast. "Why don't we talk over at Sava's Fruit Teas? It's more comfortable than standing here and--"

Harry leaned close, putting his hand on the wall by Draco's head. "Mm-mm. I know my Malfoy. Let's have it out first, then we can go sit, okay?"

Shifting to his other foot, Draco breathed out, staring at the ground as he gathered his thoughts and tried to think of how to broach the subject. After a moment, he raised his head.

"Did mother, when she was talking to you, happen to mention anything about children?"

"'Children'?" Harry echoed. He tilted his head. "Come to think of it, she did. Just in passing."

"Yes?"

"Nothing much, just at the end before I left, that the Malfoy family now and after would always be there for me. At least I think she meant children." He half-shrugged. "But that'd be kind of hard seeing as how..."

As he looked at him, Harry's voice trailed off, and Draco saw the dawning realization in his husband's eyes. He strained to catch any hint of disgust or betrayal. Instead he only saw hope.

"Is it possible?" Harry asked. "I've never heard of anything--a spell?" He grimaced. "Oh God, does one of us have to get pregnant?"

Draco would have laughed if he could have. This still could turn ugly.

"Not a spell," he whispered with a small shake of his head. "You've never heard because we've kept it a secret."

"What secret?" Harry asked, leaning closer. Their frosted breaths mingled in the air.

"A potion," Draco said. "Harry...my mother, she didn't bear me the normal way. She couldn't. Her family never crossbred with anything, and their women have a harder time having children. Mother couldn't at all."

Harry frowned in confusion. "Then...?"

"Potion," Draco said again, struggling to say the secret out loud. He stomped his foot, forcing himself to work up the nerve. "That's why Severus is so important to them. Mother alone didn't have the skill to--to bring me to term."

A sharp intake of breath as Harry understood.

"They made you like a potion," he whispered. "In a cauldron."

Draco nodded once.

"So...we could do the same?" Harry asked. "We could have children?"

Draco nodded again.

"Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"I..." Draco tried to find a reason and shook his head. "I was afraid. I thought you would feel sick or--maybe you'd heard the stories about homunculi. In the past the process was interrupted, and it was horrible and aurors would come back telling stories about evil little creatures shrieking and reaching for them, and they were really just dying--"

"Shh," Harry said, touching his hand and slowly curling their fingers together. "It's all right. I don't think it's disgusting."

"But...Severus said muggles don't see this the way we do," Draco said, only arguing halfheartedly. "And you were raised by them."

"Only in the loosest sense of the word," Harry said. "Even if I did, muggles have something a little like this. They call them test tube babies."

"Testoo?"

Harry smiled. "I'll explain it over lunch. And you can tell me more about how it's done?"

Letting himself smile, Draco nodded once and walked with him hand in hand, feeling much lighter than he had before. Harry took each secret in stride, faltering only once at their family hierarchy. Draco could understand that. Perhaps in time he'd encourage Harry to open up enough to talk about his own life and childhood. Then maybe he wouldn't be so nervous every time he revealed a new secret.

Although lost in his own thoughts, he was not so lost that he didn't sense the change in the air as they neared the middle of the street. Dark wizards with hoods drawn low seemed to clump together, either staring in a shop window or sitting on a bench, or conveniently stepping out of a store and drawing closer. None of them seemed to spare Harry and Draco a look, but he couldn't help but tense.

These dark wizards weren't nervous. If he looked under their sleeves, he had no doubt he'd find dark marks on their arms, and all of them still proud to bear it. He slipped his hand into his pocket, grasping his wand. If only they could apparate--too late, the wizards all turned to face them.

Time rewound. The same heavy pulse of his heart roared in his ears, the same stomach churning anxiety just before an attack. The same instinct to run or stand and fight. If he concentrated, he was sure he could hear Hogsmeade burning in the distance and the thunder of Voldemort's army coming to meet them. Harry let go of his hand.

By the time the dark wizards raised their wands, blue fire flew from Harry's hand, and Draco turned to face the nearest, calling out crepara.

Once more, Diagon Alley descended into war.


	4. Wherein the Malfoy family returns home

Too much adrenalin made Draco's crepara spell go wide, glancing the Death Eater's hand and striking the wall behind him, turning a handful of bricks into dust. His enemy dropped his wand, screaming as his arm shriveled into a dry claw crushed beneath him as he fell.

A red light flashed past Draco's face, barely missing him. As he stumbled back, he remembered that he didn't have his besom to yank him out of the way. He cast athamia, missed, then cast fyria and hit his target. Flames billowed up from the Death Eater as her robes turned her into a human candle.

By now other voices were coming near, aurors keeping watch, perhaps, or maybe even other dark wizards, if they hadn't run away the moment the attack started. Over the noise of deflected spells and counter curses from behind him, Draco heard help coming and heard a pop of apparition somewhere nearby. Were they escaping or calling for reinforcements?

Draco looked up and found two more coming at him. With a crawenen spell, he sent dozens of ravens rushing out of his wand into their faces, pecking and clawing at their eyes. One of the death eaters turned away to fight the birds off, but the other aimed her spells right into the mass of black feathers. Smoke and the smell of charred flesh filled the street. Draco dropped to one knee to make himself a smaller target and cast athamia, but she deflected his cutting spell and followed with a jinx of her own.

In all the cacophony of birds screeching, he couldn't hear her incantation. He saw the black strands aimed at his face and raised his hand instinctively. The dark spell missed his palm and struck his face, leaving a long row of thick stitches across his skin that marred his cheek and sewed his eyes shut.

The pain stole his breath. His wand clattered to the cobblestones as he fell sideways. Each stitch felt like a needle jabbed into his face. When he pressed his hand to his eyes, he drew back again with a shudder. Blood coated his face.

Worse, this spell wasn't meant to kill.

"Blood traitor," she snarled, burning the last of his ravens away. "I've been so eager to see you again."

At least the spell saved his pride by damming up tears of pain. Her voice was so much like his mother's that it made his hands tremble. He'd hoped Bellatrix had died during the battle of Hogwarts.

Behind him, the furious shouting and crashing spells blurred into each other. He scrambled backwards, trying to think past the pain. She would cast crucio--he'd rip his eyes open--where was his wand--where was Harry--?

No crucio came. He heard several loud cracks as people disapparated around him, and then nothing but the wind and groans of a handful of fallen Death Eaters. Harry no longer yelled out spells. Afraid to draw attention to himself, Draco tried to call Harry's name and only managed a whisper.

Someone put their arms around him. He raised his wand out of instinct, but the hand closing on his wrist was familiar. Harry nestled around him as if he could protect him with his body.

"It's all right," Harry said. "They're gone."

Frightened witches and wizards--Draco heard them coming out of the stores, looking around now that the danger had passed. Other voices, familiar although he couldn't identify them, finally arrived and began checking the fallen Death Eaters.

"My eyes," Draco whispered, struggling to make himself louder. "My eyes--you have to--"

As he spoke, he was half-turned and his face gently tilted up. Harry drew in a sharp breath. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who saw.

"Merlin..." someone gasped, the whisper cutting through all the noise on the street. "His face."

Draco put his hand over his eyes, but that only made people more curious and drew them closer. He was sure the blood trickling down his pale cheeks made a striking picture. The experienced aurors began pushing people away and warding the area, giving them a little room.

"Oh wonderful," someone grumbled, "here comes the bloody Prophet."

"Tonks, get them out of here," another whispered.

He couldn't let them photograph him blinded and bleeding. As he struggled to gather himself, someone new knelt beside him, opposite Harry and shielding him from view. A slender hand touched his shoulder.

"Think you can side-along him to St. Mungo's?" Tonks asked Harry. If she remembered her last argument with Draco, she made no mention of it.

Before Harry could answer, Draco shook his head. "Not there. It isn't safe."

"Malfoy, you need to go to the hospital. Besides, security's tight enough--"

"No," Draco hissed. Why did she insist on arguing? Hard enough to think without her distracting him. "Safe for you, not for me. And they can't do anything you can't. Think of someplace else."

Not too far away came the rapid clicking of a camera. Their time was up. Harry muttered something purely for Tonk's benefit, and then the sounds of Diagon Alley disappeared, replaced by birdsong, a cool breeze and the screech of a very startled gnome.

There was the squeak of metal and old wood, which Draco assumed was Tonks holding a gate open. Harry helped him to his feet and put his arm around him, guiding him through tall grass and nudging aside what sounded like--chickens?

"Where are we?" Draco whispered, afraid to raise his voice. "Where did you bring me?"

"Somewhere safe," Harry said.

"Harry," Tonks called out, "where are you going? Bathroom's upstairs, remember?"

"The pond's better," Harry answered, lowering his voice as they turned a corner. Even though Tonks was too far to hear now, probably inside anyway, he only wanted Draco to hear. "You'll kill me when you find out where we are. I'm not making it worse by taking you inside."

"What do you mean?"

Harry didn't answer, and Draco could only keep his hand over his eyes, pressing down to try and stop the terrible throbbing. The thread felt thick and rough to his skin, too stiff to move. Sticenia--the spell he'd used to save the dying woman in the theater. Trust his aunt to find a different use for it.

Before he could demand answers, Draco's foot came up against something heavy. He would've tripped if Harry wasn't holding him. There were several splashes and strange croaks he couldn't quite place, all of which faded into silence. The lack of noise unnerved him.

"Here, sit down," Harry said.

Reaching down, Draco felt a large cold stone behind him, and he sat down while keeping hold of his husband's arm. With the battle over and his adrenalin turning into hollow exhaustion, he noticed the irritating wisps of hair plastered to his face and bloody eyes. Harry gingerly brushed them aside with his fingertips, and then came the sound of fabric tearing and further splashing.

"This is going to hurt a bit, but I need to see under all that blood," Harry murmured, lightly dabbing at his face with a damp cloth. Draco wondered where it had came from, then realized Harry had torn a piece from his robe.

"Damn, these stitches are tight," Harry continued, leaning close to see the damage. "Is there a counter spell? Something to take it off without hurting you?"

Draco shook his head once.

"Then...I have to cut it out?"

"It's the only way. You--you should conjure my skinning knife."

Harry froze.

"Oh God, no," he breathed. "I can't take this off. I'm not a healer. I only know the basics. Let me take you to St. Mungo's--"

Draco put his hand out, finding Harry's cheek first and then pressing his knuckles against Harry's mouth to quiet him. He shook his head. Light wizards wouldn't be able to treat this any differently. If he had to be in pain, at least he could be with his husband.

"I trust you more than anyone," Draco said.

Silence.

Harry conjured the knife.

Draco leaned back, doing his best to hold still despite his shaking. Cold chills filled Draco's body as he nodded. He thought he would melt and freeze at the same time.

"You don't have to press hard," Draco whispered quickly, speaking faster as Harry drew close. "It's sharp. Just slide the edge against the string, it'll cut easily. It'll cut--"

"Shh," Harry whispered, putting his hand under Draco's pointed chin to hold him still. "Don't move."

Draco held his breath. He almost begged for an impedimentia to stop him from trembling. Could he distract himself from the needle pain in his eyes, or the sharp tip? Maybe. He knew he was good at ignoring things he didn't want to think about. Why were there frogs and chickens? A farm? Probably not. Harry had to know this place well enough to apparate here, and he didn't think Harry had been to any farms.

Wherever they were, thank God Harry hadn't taken him home. Home meant facing his mother with blood on his face, bringing trouble when his father couldn't do anything about it, perhaps even spooking his family into running away. It risked his parents turning their anger on Severus if he told them their best hope was to stay the course. An attack like this, in broad daylight in the middle of Diagon Alley, would scatter the dark wizards if the Malfoy family ran. Everything they'd worked for and the survival of their community would be ruined.

Draco didn't want another war. His anxiety almost distracted him from the slice into the first stitch.

With his good hand, he grabbed the edge of the stone to hold himself steady, tensing as the second stitch released. Harry handled the knife well and cut through each stitch in one smooth motion, but it was slow going, and each sliced thread had to be gently tugged free.

Blood trickled down his chin. Harry's fingers slipped once, and he readjusted for a better grip. Harry was more than halfway through when he paused to breathe.

"Almost there," he whispered. "Almost done."

That made it worse. The stitches didn't fall in a straight line across his face. Closer to the edge, the stitches ran off his eyes along his temple, ending at his hairline. Without anything to hold closed, the thread lay flat against the skin, and Harry had to ease the tip of the knife into the sliver of space. The thread pulled tight as Harry cut it free. Finally he drew back with a deep breath.

"Done," he said, dropping the knife in the grass. "Let me clean it up."

The relief as Harry mended all the punctures made Draco light-headed. As Harry wiped the blood from his face, Draco blinked and tried to catch his breath. At least he could see again, blurry shapes that looked like a child's fingerpaintings.

"Where are we?" he mumbled, closing his eyes again. Although they were healed, they would be sore for days.

Harry fell silent. Just outside the door came the sound of slow footsteps and hushed whispers, as if someone didn't want to come any closer. Draco reached out and found Harry's hand, felt him touch his hair and reassure him that he was safe. The whispers came close enough that he recognized the voices.

He slumped and turned away.

Weasleys.

"Great," he grumbled. "First the injury, now the insult."

"Don't start," Harry murmured, pushing his hair from his face and then holding him close when he wouldn't move. "We're safe here. The Prophet'll try St. Mungo's first, and then the cottage. This way we can stall for time before we have to answer questions."

"...oh hell," Draco whispered. Damn, but he should have thought of that. Harry was right. The Prophet's vultures would cluster around his home, break the news of the attack to his mother and try to get pictures of her crying.

"I need parchment," he said. "And a quill."

"Are you sure?" Harry started to ask, then cut himself off. Draco wouldn't have said anything if he wasn't sure. "All right. I'll ask."

As Harry left, Draco sighed and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. If only they could apparate home, but that risked popping up in front of the Prophet. Long minutes passed, and with each one, Draco wondered if he was already too late.

"Are you all right?"

And now he was a curiosity to the Weasley brood. The voice was young and feminine, so it had to be Ginny, and he consoled himself that she was the least annoying red head. He quelled his urge to snap, but only because Harry expected some measure of courtesy towards his friends.

"I've had my eyes sewn shut and cut open," he drawled, turning away from her. "And how's your day been?"

She ignored his question and bent closer. He could feel the air shift as he moved, caught the faint scent of whatever perfume she was wearing. Why would she wear perfume? She couldn't expect to go anywhere classy enough to justify it.

"They look fine now," she said.

Did the little chit want to see strings and blood? Clearly his opinion of their lack of breeding was well founded. He leaned away and hoped the rock wouldn't shift and dump him into the pond.

Fortunately she took the hint and backed off, retreating into the growing whispers at the edge of his hearing. Was the whole clan of blood traitors there, watching and muttering? He could tell a few of their voices, the twins loudest of all, an older woman that was probably their mother, and was that a French accent in there? Even worse, the frogs started croaking and splashing again, so close he was afraid the slimy little things might touch him. He brought his knees to his chest, curling up and glad that his form fitting robes didn't get in the way. He began to warm up, only now realizing how cold he'd been.

He hadn't noticed how tight he'd curled, but Harry's footsteps, quickly tromping through the grass, made his shoulders loosen. His husband felt like a shield between him and the mob of redheads floating somewhere nearby.

"Do you feel sick?" Harry asked, pressing his hand to Draco's forehead before he got an answer. "You're a little cold."

"No, your hands are just hot," Draco lied. "I'll be fine."

"All right," Harry said, not pushing. He sat down and unfurled the parchment, but he hesitated before giving over the quill. "Want me to write it for you?"

"Please," Draco said, grateful for the offer. "I can't keep my hands steady."

"Sure. Go ahead and start. I'll tell you if I need to catch up."

"Mm. It'll be short. 'Mother, Sev, we're all right. There was an attack at Diagon Alley, but Harry and I are all right now. We'll be home soon. I'll explain then'."

While Harry finished scratching out the message, Draco slid off the ring his father had given him on his thirteenth birthday, his first coming of age present. Not long after his honeymoon, Draco had explained the ring's purpose, so Harry wordlessly took the ring, rolled the parchment up and slipped it inside. "Narcissa Malfoy" whispered to the serpent crest made it disappear without a sound.

"Now what was that about a few hours more?" Harry asked in a disapproving tone. "I'd rather let her and Snape look you over, since you won't go to St. Mungo's."

"Don't make that sound like a bad thing," Draco said. "Besides, there's no time. We have to go back to Diagon Alley."

Several seconds passed before Harry could gather his wits to reply to that. "I thought I was the foolish Gryffindor."

Hearing the smile behind the tease, Draco half-smiled in return. "You are. Do you think I'd risk it without you there?"

"But why?"

"Because if Draco Malfoy isn't scared, no one will be."

About to begin their familiar dance about bravery versus stupidity, Harry's reply was lost as Tonks interrupted.

"Well, I got hold of Shacklebolt," she said, coming across the yard and sending frogs splashing into the pond again. It was clear that she wasn't talking to Draco. "He says they just carted off the last Death Eater, and he'll be by your house sometime later today to get your statement. So, did you get him to agree to go to St. Mungo's?"

"I don't think that's going to happen," Harry said. "Besides, the Malfoys will take care of him better than anyone else could."

"I don't think that's wise," she prodded. "No matter how large their workshop is, it's still just a home version. It can't match what the hospital has."

"It's been a long time since you've seen mother's workshop," Draco drawled, basking in her tightly measured breath as she grew annoyed. "And you've never seen Sev's. They put the ministry's storehouses to shame."

Of course, that was when they actually had their full supply, but that had been destroyed when he burned down the mansion. Although they did their best to grow their own herbs and poisons again, the cottage had limited space and there was only so much that the family could do against winter hindering their plants. Until the new manor and gardens were built, most of what they had came from Knockturn Alley.

"Anyway, I don't need anything. Harry took care of it." Draco uncurled himself and took a moment to gather his strength, forcing himself to open his eyes. The world was still too bright and blurry.

"In fact," he continued, "we're going back right now."

"What?" she snapped. "Are you insane? You were just attacked--if Harry wasn't such a great duelist, you wouldn't be so cavalier about all this. There could be more of them waiting for you--Shacklebolt said--"

"We're going," Harry said softly, cutting her off. He put his hand on Draco's shoulder, both to shield him from Tonks and to prevent him from snapping back at her. "We have to show we're not afraid, otherwise the dark community might get spooked back into hiding."

"Or worse," Draco murmured, "disappear entirely."

"'Disappear'?" she echoed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that my family has invested a lot of effort in trying to keep the dark families here. We've risked our lives, and coming from my family, that means a lot." He took a deep breath and got to his feet, relying on Harry's hand to hold him steady. "If we don't show them that we're not running, before the stupid Prophet scares everyone into thinking the war is back on, by this time tomorrow we could be the last dark wizards in Britain."

"They'd just run back to France for awhile," she said readily. "Hide for a few hundred years, then come back with different names."

"Not this time," he said, shaking his head. "The circumstances are different."

When she didn't answer, he straightened his robes out of habit, a little surprised that she would patiently wait for him to explain. He was used to people demanding answers or peppering him with insults. Then again, he was used to aiming casual insults back. Maybe a little courtesy worked both ways...but he wasn't about to admit that to Harry.

"The last time we ran," he said, "your record keeping was medieval. It was easy to hide and come back under new identities. This time you might be able to remember who we are. If we leave again, there won't be another chance."

She stared at him for a moment, weighing her reply in her mind before she spoke. "Why do you want to stay? Most of the world here is afraid of you, if they don't outright hate you."

Draco couldn't help glancing at the Weasley house, and the little row of faces watching from the window. There was nothing there, no welcome or acceptance, just morbid curiosity, like children watching a disgusting beetle crawling across the floor. He closed his eyes again.

"I don't care if they hate me," Draco said. "But this is our home. I just care that they won't try to kill me."

There was nothing more to say, or nothing more he wanted to say. As he usually did when apparating, he stepped close to Harry and felt the familiar touch of his arm that softened the uncomfortable pressure of side-along apparition.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

Closing his eyes, Draco nodded. When he looked up again, they were standing in front of Sava's Fruit Teas, startling the last bystanders dawdling away from the middle of the street. A handful of aurors remained, examining the blood stains and scorch marks before cleaning them away. Draco found Harry's hand and gave him a slight tug, leading him towards Knockturn Alley.

"What the--"

The closest to them, Shacklebolt heard the pop of their apparation and looked up from a patch of ashes that had been a Death Eater's arm. Leaving the ashes to another auror, he walked over while glancing down the street to see if anyone was watching.

"What are you two doing here?" he demanded. "Harry, I thought you had more sense than to come back. Malfoy should be in the hospital. At any rate, this place isn't safe for you two. You're lucky the Prophet already left."

"The Death Eaters won't try anything again so soon," Harry argued. "There's too many aurors here now."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Shacklebolt said, but he eyed Draco and didn't elaborate.

"We won't be long," Harry said. "But it's important."

About to ask what was so important, Shacklebolt growled impatiently as one of his colleagues called him back. Casting an irritated look at Harry and Draco, he turned away and returned to looking over the bodies.

"Quick," Draco whispered. "Before he changes his mind." And before Harry had second thoughts, although Draco didn't say that out loud.

He didn't know why Harry didn't like Knockturn Alley, except that he'd once wandered there as a child and had nearly been picked to pieces by the witches. Even Draco had never visited without his father, but he felt safer there than on Diagon Alley.

The shop names probably didn't help. Bathory's Body Works, de Rais' Playthings, Vacher's Butchery, Cafe de Gévaudan -- Harry didn't catch all the references, but he knew a handful. And the street signs, Elizabeth Bathory bathing in blood, a porcelain doll with eyes that watched passersby, would set any wizard on edge the first time he saw them.

An empty street greeted them. Their footsteps echoed on the cold cobblestones and the wind moaned between the buildings. Draco knew they weren't alone. He felt the eyes staring at them from black windows, and he heard doors creak open a tiny bit behind him.

As he walked by, the dark wizards slowly found their courage again and crept out, skittish as cats as they whispered to each other. They heard no explosions, no spells hurtling back and forth. Most importantly, no aurors chased after Draco to clap him in irons and drag him to Azkaban. By the time he spotted the book shop, the alley sounded close to normal again.

The scent of dust and old pages welcomed him into Sortileja's Book Repository. Soft torchlight cast the room in a golden glow, highlighting some of the shelves, throwing the rest of the books into shadow. Tall stacks of books lined the walls while shorter piles covered the floor, making walking treacherous. With little more than a nod at Mr. Annfwn, the shop owner, Draco headed to his favorite corner in the back and sat down at the creaky table. Without looking at what he grabbed, he dragging over a heavy book and opened it to a random page.

Quiet, moving slowly so he wouldn't spook Draco, Harry sat down across from him and watched. He'd spent several nights beside him in bed while Draco read books as thick as his pillow, lost in thought and moving only to turn a page, to idly touch Harry's hand to make sure he was still there. He read like Hermione, although he snorted every time Harry said it. They both fell into their books, lost inside like children reading fairy tales, only speaking when they'd discovered something so wonderful that they just had to tell the closest person.

This was how he knew Draco was not reading. He stared at the page without following the words, tapped the edges of the book with his fingertips before fidgeting and drumming on the table. His leg nervously bounced until he couldn't stand it anymore and sat back, staring at the far window. Harry watched him push his hair out of his eyes, then tug at his robes.

"You look a little like a snake," Harry said.

Draco stopped and stared at him. "What? I'm not transforming, am I? No, not hissing yet..."

"Not like that," Harry laughed. "I mean you look like you're about to come out of your skin." He half-smiled as Draco sighed and stared at the floor. "Do your eyes hurt?"

"No. They're fine," Draco lied. He leaned over the table, resting his head on his arm. "Why am I acting like this? I didn't fall apart when the Ravenclaws attacked us..."

"No, you dragged us both into Slytherin when neither of us could stand." Harry touched Draco's hair, running it over his rough hands like silk. "And you're not falling apart now. How many people would come back after that fight? How many people would have the presence of mind to think about the rest of the world, instead of running home and hiding under the covers?"

"I'm not brave," Draco argued.

"Of course not," Harry agreed too quickly. "You ran and left me when we were attacked, you sobbed the whole time I took those stitches out, you ran home the moment you could..."

Craning his head back, Draco glared at his husband but didn't reply. Harry's fingers and his playful tugs on his hair were too nice to stop just to argue. He stared at the far window and the streaks of sunlight through the dust. He hadn't thought it was so late. The shifting shadows made him feel more comfortable. Usually he could spend hours browsing the books, but today he wasn't interested in any of them.

Long minutes passed. Not until he heard the door open again, heard footsteps and greetings and "do you happen to have this book?" did he finally sit up and take a deep breath. His body felt sore and the skin around his eyes was beginning to throb.

"I'm tired," Draco murmured. "Let's go."

Harry reached across the table and ran his fingers down his cheek, checking if there were any scars.

"Don't worry," Draco said, tilting his head so Harry could see clearly. "I'm still the better looking one."

"You should be," Harry agreed. "After all the time you spend in front of the mirror."

"At least one of us should care about his appearance."

Bickering gently back and forth, they left the Sortileja's without buying anything and walked across the street to Draco's favorite shop, The Devil's Delights.

As dim as any other shop on Knockturn Alley, only a few lumos charms lit the displays of desserts and treats in neat rows under the glass counter. The rest of the shop lay in deep shadow broken only by glowing cauldrons and ovens glowing hot. The workers in the back were black silhouettes moving through the smoke, hauling out trays and sliding in new racks.

Draco looked over the racks of sweets, pointing out each little stack and watching handfuls disappear into a small paper sack. Sugared roses, candied crickets that sang, apple tarts blossoming with tiny white flowers, cooked but still alive--Harry hovered near this side of the display, trying not to look at the rest of their stock. There were colorful poisoned toadstools with their own antidote as jelly filling, hard candy eyes in a jar that blinked and watched him move, and worst of all, beating hearts in chocolate. He couldn't bring himself to bite one, so he had to trust Draco's word that they were all chocolate and raspberry.

Once the little paper bag was full, Draco crumpled the top and clutched it tight so it wouldn't slip out of his fist. He'd once dropped a bag when he was a child and his father had refused to take him back to look for it. The loss was forever etched in his memory, and he was determined never to let it happen again.

"All right," he said after he paid. He sighed and looked out the window as the sun began to edge towards the horizon. "Take me home."

"You ready to face all their questions?" Harry asked, putting his arm around him.

"No," Draco said softly, but a smile tugged at his lips. "I'll just say I feel sick and mother will rush me to bed, and my brave, strong husband will explain everything to my father and Sev'."

"We'll see about that, my bratty Malfoy." Harry smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead, holding him close as they apparated.

They reappeared in the ruined remains of the garden, welcomed by the orange and red glow of fire inside the cottage windows. Several seconds passed before Draco realized what he was looking at, that the hearth was not burning unusually bright. He stumbled forward as Harry suddenly left his side and ran headlong into the house. Draco caught himself, but the move made him look down at the gouges in the grass.

There were no human footprints, no scorches from spells. Instead he saw deep rips where some four footed creature had dug its talons into the earth before springing forward. Whatever had attacked his home had come from this direction. He whirled, afraid that the monster was still nearby, but the field and forest surrounding the cottage were silent. Drawing his wand, he followed Harry inside, straining to hear anything over the flames crackling along the wall and carpet.

To his surprise, the damage inside was light. A few claw marks on the wall, a line of fire slowly eating the curtains--he doused those as he walked--the furniture all overturned, but very little blood. He found a splatter here and there, but nothing like he would have expected from a fight.

He found the source of the fire on the staircase, a black smudge of ashes and grease that Harry must have extinguished as he ran past. Draco had to guess from the curve of her claws and her fat stomach, but it looked like a black annis. Voldemort's army of dark things hadn't been forgotten by his followers. And if one of those was here...

A flashback of the rawhead and bloody bones biting deep into his shoulder twisted his stomach. He grit his teeth and fought the urge to retch. Right now he had to keep his wits and keep going upstairs, although he promised himself that he would collapse and break down later, when he and his family were safe.

He found Harry in the master bedroom where his parents usually slept. The room looked untouched, but he hesitated at the flash of red he glimpsed in the bathroom. That was where Lucius had been, transformed into that crippling half-wyvern state.

"It's okay," Harry said from the doorway, turning and looking over his shoulder. "I don't think any of this is his."

Draco came behind Harry but didn't try to pass him. The stone walls were dripping blood, but the tattered shreds of skin and tissue on the floor weren't mother-of-pearl scales. Harry took a step inside, ignoring Draco's hiss of protest, and reached into the cloudy red water. He fished around and brought up a head and a shoulder that had been slashed clean off the rest of the body. Despite the mangling, it was recognizable as a hag. Her green hair and skin looked more suited to her home in a scummy pond.

Even though she was obviously dead, Draco reached out slowly, afraid that she might open her eyes and lunge, and lay his fingers over the gouges in her torso. They matched almost perfectly, a little smaller but human shaped.

"Father did this," Draco whispered. "With his claws."

Harry grimaced and let the body slip back down into the water. "So where are they?"

The answer came automatically.

"Home," Draco said. "The Manor."

"It's just some bare walls and the cellar," Harry argued. "It doesn't even have ceilings yet."

"They went home," Draco insisted. "The wards were set before they started building. It'd be safer than here."

Clearly not convinced, Harry nonetheless put his hand on Draco's shoulder and whisked them away to the cleared foundation of the Malfoy estate. The last rays of sunlight showed them the skeletal framework of what would soon become the new manor, the remaining topiary and hedges of their old garden, and the wide door that opened out of the foundation and led to the cellar. Allowed through the wards, Draco cautiously knocked first, afraid that he might be hexed if he startled anyone inside, and then threw open the door and went in.

In the far corner, Narcissa sat still as Severus sang long spells over her, mending the last of what had clearly been deep wounds. She wore only a white shift and their only blanket had been folded beneath her to serve as a bed. Her dress had been tossed in a corner, covered in blood too dark to hers, and long black streaks showed where the fire had raced higher.

Breathing in sharply in shock, Draco rushed to her side and knelt down. Her hand lay in her lap and she looked out of the corner of her eye at the steps as Harry and Draco came down, smiling faintly when she saw them. She touched his hand, and he noticed that she had his ring in her palm.

"Thank God," she whispered. "Thank God."

"Are you all right?" he asked. "What happened? Are you--?"

"I'm just tired," she said softly. "I'm not used to casting such strong spells. I'm not used to fighting at all."

"She was in the parlor when they came," Severus said as he finished, but there was only relief in his voice. "But she'll be all right after some sleep. I was about to go search for you."

He looked over both of them for similar injuries, and he hesitated as he scanned Draco's face.

"Faint scarring," he murmured. He glanced at Narcissa and didn't say anything else about it.

"Sev'," Draco said. "What happened? Where's father? We just saw the cottage--"

"An attack," Severus said and didn't elaborate. "We will not be returning there. Lucius said we'll simply speed up the rebuilding and stay here."

"So he's all right," Draco breathed.

"Oh yes," Severus said, his tone clipped in irritation. "Well enough to remember his vanity. He's in the garden pond and refuses to be seen right now. Stay here with your mother. I don't want him out there alone, wards or not."

Draco watched him leave without a word. Severus hid his emotions well, but Draco had lived as his apprentice for years. He recognized the small pauses, the nervous glance back over his shoulder to make sure they were still there before he left. This attack had rattled him badly. He doubted that Severus really questioned the wards here. He probably wanted Lucius' presence for his own assurance, no matter how much Lucius hissed to be left alone.

He sat down beside his mother, holding her hand and watching as she fell asleep. Beside him, Harry nestled against his side without complaint. The cellar was warm enough that they didn't need blankets, and Draco found that now that he'd settled, he didn't think that he'd be able to stand up again. All of his strength felt drained out of him.

So many questions that he would have to wait for answers to. The attacks had to be related. How had they been planned? Was it to destroy their truce with the ministry or was it revenge for betraying Voldemort? Did they know his parents were still alive? How were they controlling the dark creatures? How long before they could move into the Manor? And where--?

He finally noticed that he'd dropped his bag from the Devil's Delights. Hungry from missing lunch and dinner, he wished he'd held onto it. He almost considered going back for it, but Harry rested on his shoulder and put his arm around him, going still as he fell asleep. Draco wondered how he managed on the hard stone and his too thin shoulder, but not for long. Weary from his own battles, he yawned so deeply that his jaw hurt a bit and he felt sleep dragging him down.

He let his head rest in the bird's nest of Harry's hair. Tomorrow would be terrible. How did Harry stand sleeping on such a hard surface? For tonight he could stand it, but they needed bedding, food, toiletries. They would have to cobble together an office space if his father didn't rent one in the city. He doubted Lucius would. His father valued his comfort, but he was as paranoid as the rest of the family.

Draco almost smiled. No one would make fun of Severus' paranoia now. He doubted that made Severus feel better.


	5. Wherein the Malfoys begin rebuilding

Drowsing as he watched the moon, Draco lay naked on the grass of his marriage bed, the damp earthen bower they'd visited often since the ceremony. Crickets and owls accompanied the night breeze, and the cool air swirled the warmer mist around them. Nestled in Harry's arms, he turned his head as Harry offered him another small piece of chocolate. He savored the taste as he licked it from Harry's fingers. It held a dash of caramel.

"You were right," Harry murmured around his own mouthful. "These are really good. Do you have any more?"

The last bit of the candy heart disappeared into Harry's mouth. Draco looked down at the gash in his chest, the black hole and the chocolate oozing around the edges.

"Sorry," he said. "I only had one heart."

Draco woke up, feeling on edge and not knowing why.

Behind him, Harry cushioned him and kept him warm better than the bare mattresses and pillows all askew on the rough floor. He could look forward to at least another week of sleeping on the cheap bedding, but spending each night wrapped up in Harry--who somehow put up with all his fidgeting--made the ordeal bearable.

Still coming out of his dream, he touched his chest to make sure it was in one piece. He found Harry's hand covering him protectively.

"Awake?" Harry whispered.

"Mm." Draco untangled his legs from around Harry's and turned slightly. "How long have you been waiting?"

"Just a few moments." Harry kissed his temple. "Long enough to tell you were still dreaming."

"Mumbling again?"

"A little. Couldn't make it out, really, except something about your caramel. I promise, next time we're at Knockturn Alley, we'll go straight to the Devil's Delights."

Smiling before he could stop himself, Draco looked up at him. "I'm holding you to that."

"I know."

Feeling more at ease and forgetting his dream, Draco snuggled back against his husband, satisfied as Harry tugged the blanket over his shoulders. The cellar provided only rudimentary shelter. Drafts crept in past the door and the earth leeched away the warmth. He looked forward to having a bedroom again, not a cramped guest room with a washbasin, not this miserable underground lair, but a real bedroom with a walk-in closet and a sizable bathtub and a bed that they didn't have to squeeze so tight in. And real wards and spells for protection.

The attacks of the past week faded, lingering in the back of their minds but no longer as frightening. The real stress came from living bunched up on top of each other. In their cellar, they lived on mattresses taken from their cottage, on blankets meant for mahogany bedframes and matching curtains, not the gray stone walls. Their only civilized touch was a tiny table in the corner that ate up too much space. Lucius had insisted upon it. His official paperwork and accounts claimed the entire tabletop. Elegant stationery and fine pens had to be piled on the floor next to their small store of potions. For the time being, Severus and Narcissa had no workshop and were forbidden from working in the cellar for fear they might accidentally poison them all with fumes.

Their short tempers spurred the rebuilding of the manor. Money was truly no object so walls went up quickly, floors and plumbing and charms laid within hours of each other. They all knew if they didn't have private rooms to retreat to soon, jinxes would fly.

Sadly for their sanity, even the combined Malfoy and Potter accounts could only do so much. Hiring too many crews meant they would just trip over each other, and one job had to be finished before another could begin. Walls went before ceilings, supports and plumbing before the walls were finished, and the foundation before all.

They also couldn't hire anyone to work through the night. The spells they had to cast were best done alone when no one could watch. The Malfoy family became nocturnal, rising as the sun neared the horizon, creeping out of the earth when the builders left.

Outside came familiar voices as workers left and the elder Malfoys no longer had to supervise. The day's building was over and the night's was about to begin. Draco was not surprised that he and Harry were the last to rise, but he was a little concerned to hear his father snapping at Narcissa and Severus. Unless the two were in rare form, Lucius usually had more patience putting up with their quarreling.

The door opened, letting in the evening sun that made Draco blink, and Lucius appeared first, walking slow but refusing any help. Despite Severus' best efforts, his skin was still too red. Potions and salves simply couldn't soothe skin forced to shed too fast. Normally he spent a week in his wyvern shape, but Lucius had spent only two days as a snake, painfully peeling away his outer layer. The head of the family couldn't afford a week hidden away from the world, not now.

Behind him, Narcissa and Severus exchanged glares but said nothing.

"It's time," Lucius told him. "Go up and wait for us. Make sure Harry knows what to expect."

Nodding once, Draco reluctantly pushed the blanket aside and got to his feet. He was already dressed, and Harry only had to do his top buttons on his shirt and pants. A quick spell kept them clean. Harry felt the same as he did, that they wanted to be prepared in case of an attack, and that meant no wasting time changing from pajamas.

When he first went to sleep fully dressed, Draco had expected his family to make fun of them, but Lucius and Narcissa had said nothing and Severus had gone to bed dressed as well. The lack of sarcasm worried Draco, not because he'd expected them to be cruel but because he didn't like being the paranoid one in the family.

Harry and Draco climbed up and emerged in the bare bones of what would, in a few weeks, become their new home. Thick wooden beams measured each room and the plumbing had already been roughed in. Draco ran his hand over the smooth wood, imagining his father's study, his mother's storeroom, Severus' workshop. He imagined the bedroom he would share with Harry, his desk against the wall and a nightstand piled high with books for bedtime reading.

"Are they really going to put in a pool?" Harry asked, eyeing the circle of ground that had been marked off. "A real swimming pool?"

"Of course," Draco said. "I asked for it, and father liked the idea once he thought about it. The wyvern shape isn't so crippling in water."

"I can't wait to see you like that," Harry said softly. "Swimming around me with a tail."

Shy about the details of his transformation, Draco glanced at him sideways. "You've already seen me like that."

"Only in a dark, murky dungeon with floating dead things and a kraken trying to kill us." Harry came up behind him, grabbing his waist and holding him tight. "Or in a dark bathroom because you're too shy."

"Harry..." Draco whined. Perhaps his tiny, true wyvern shape was handsome, with its translucent wings and opal scales, but as a half-snake--his stumpy tail, tiny fangs and peeling skin revolted himself. "It's hideous."

"You're crazy."

Harry turned him around, unabashedly studying his face. Bellatrix's sticenia jinx had left thin scars around Draco's eyes. Harry lightly touched them, tracing them with his fingertips before Draco flushed and lowered his head.

"Do you have to look at them?" he asked softly.

"Severus was right," Harry smiled. "You're terribly vain."

"I'm terribly scarred," Draco retorted.

"Then we match," Harry said. "Besides, yours are hardly noticeable."

"So they are noticeable?"

"Spoiled brat." Harry put his hands on either side of Draco's face, sliding his fingers back through his hair. He brushed his thumbs over the slightly raised scars, then leaned close and took a kiss.

A sound to the left caught Draco's attention and he reluctantly turned away from Harry. His family came out of the cellar, their cloaks sweeping the ground. With a sigh and a half-reluctant smile, Draco gave Harry one more quick kiss, then took his hand and drew him toward the center of the estate.

In their long absence, the grounds surrounding their home had grown without any tending. Grass rose to their knees and wild flowers grew in tangled knots. Toadstools, ghostly white and lethal, stood in rings. Draco looked round in the dim moonlight. The magic was running wild, summer in the midst of snowy spring. Impossible to tell what else was growing out of sight.

Harry's squeezed his hand. The move startled him, but he forced himself to unstiffen and glanced sideways at Harry.

"Like a skittish snake," Harry whispered with a faint smile.

Draco narrowed his eyes in annoyance, but he didn't snap.

They joined the rest of the family at the center of the grounds. Lucius looked up at the moon, silver lighting his face for a moment, then nodded.

On cue, they turned and began walking out in different directions like spokes on a wheel. Draco had to let go of Harry's hand after a step. Alone, he walked into the night and forced himself not to glance right or left. After all, Harry wasn't far. His whole family was near at hand. And if something leapt out of the bushes at him, he could probably outrun it long enough.

He reached the edge where the grass met the scattered trees that marked the end of their land. Malfoy Manor sat on a steep rise. On one side, the hill gave way to an old forest. On the other, the muggle town lay spread out beneath them. Draco watched the soft lights burning in their homes, eclectic lights Harry had said. Their homes looked warm and comfortable. In the gold windows he saw families at the dinner table, parents and children eating and talking much the same as his family did. Their food wasn't made by elves or in charmed pots, their lights weren't flickering candles or torches, but from what he saw and from what Harry said, muggles had more in common with him than not.

The thought turned his stomach.

Muggles were vermin playing at being intelligent or civilized. Like roaches that didn't know when to scatter in the light. Easily crushed underfoot, dangerous only because they swarmed.

How could Harry stand those creatures, so disgusting precisely because they were so close to wizards? And how could Harry hold that disgust against him when Draco didn't scorn Harry for speaking with them, treating them like equals? Why didn't Harry feel how superior he was when compared to those things? To how much better he was than other wizards. So powerful, raw, untamed even.

His disgust didn't distract him from the task at hand. He turned his back on the town at the proper moment, facing his family as they all turned. To his relief, Harry had also moved at the right time. Harry had only learned the ritual the night before and Lucius and Narcissa were both hesitant to let him participate in such an important spell.

"Four is more stable than three," Severus had reminded them. "And if he does screw up, we can do it again."

Draco smiled. Judging by Harry's concentrated look, he was determined to earn their confidence.

As he raised his wand toward the center of their circle, he waited for his father to begin the spell. The wind rushed through the grass and rustled the leaves of the ring of trees. Painfully cold and sharp, the night came alive around them, clearing the clouds from the moon. Draco's cloak swirled around him. His family, even Harry, looked like proper dark wizards conjuring demons and waiting to receive orders from the devil.

Had his ancestors looked like this centuries ago? Had they performed these same rituals with Morgan? His father began the chant, reciting words that were too old to translate. They didn't need translation. Their blood understood.

Cold, white flame flowed from each wand, curling down along the grass and ringing the garden and foundation. It glowed, barely illuminating the ground at their feet. Joining in the spell, Draco matched his father's cadence and heard his mother and Severus do the same. To his right, Harry recited the words too deliberately, holding his wand as if the fire might pour in all directions.

The spell was just a song, just spoken words, but Draco felt himself struggling to keep up. Powerful dark magic exacted powerful prices. Even casting a fourth of this spell left him panting for breath as if he'd played an entire game of quidditch. Then again, he thought he should consider himself lucky that he didn't have to cut open a vein.

As he bent slightly, turning his neck to relieve a growing ache, he spotted a flash of color at his feet. He didn't falter in the spell but his eyes widened as he saw a wide variety of flowers hidden in the tall grass, their buds closed for the night. Noting the spot in his mind, he squashed his excitement and focused on the spell.

Turning to the left, they began to walk, carefully measuring the ring with their steps. The fire began to spiral, spinning in towards itself in slow waves, its flames flickering. Draco looked to make sure he was walking at the same pace as his family, coming to a stop when they made a full circle.

As one, they released the fire from their wands and let out a breath. Their part was done. The magic would finish without them.

Uncontrolled, the flames grew into a field of white waves like a brushfire spurred by the wind. Draco stared at it and the furious shadows it cast on his family and the foundation of the manor. Even knowing it wouldn't hurt him, he had to fight his instinct to back away from the flames.

Suddenly the night seemed blacker and the stars turned into a white stream. Glancing over his shoulder, Draco smiled. The muggle town had gone dark. Magic didn't mix with their eclectic power, Harry had said. He spotted a few muggles coming out of their homes with eclectic torches, trying to see what was wrong. None of them saw the white firestorm on the hill above them.

Long minutes passed as the flames rolled in waves around them, growing smaller the farther out they fanned. Dying in flickers as short as the grass along the edges of the property, it dwindled to a faint glow and went out. In the stillness that followed, Draco heard a few birds begin to chirp again, saw the lights in the town come back on.

"Did it work?"

Draco chuckled. Even across the hill, Harry's whisper sounded like a shout.

Despite himself, Lucius half-smiled. "Yes, it worked. You performed well enough. The manor will require charms throughout its construction, but nothing as large as this."

Lucius replaced his wand in his cane and moved toward the center of their circle, motioning for them to do the same. Pocketing his wand, Draco took a moment to stoop and gather a red toadstool from the edge of the property. He held it at his side out of sight as he joined them.

Everyone looked like Draco felt, worn out after a hard day's work. Even Harry looked winded, or at least winded enough to mollify everyone's ego. Harry didn't wear a fine layer of sweat or stand slightly stooped, but he did move a little slower than usual.

"So--no blood? We didn't need to sacrifice anyone?" Harry whispered to Draco.

Overhearing them, Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Volunteering?"

"What? No--! No..." Harry took a step back as if to dodge a sudden grab.

"He's just teasing," Narcissa assured him, although she glared at Lucius until he looked away.

"In any case, I think that's enough work for one evening," Lucius said. "Tomorrow we'll begin introducing the cellar to the main house, charming where the doors will be and such. 'Till then, I'll be writing a few letters downstairs. Draco, have you made any alterations to your lecture?"

Draco shook his head. "No, anything I don't discuss will have to wait 'till another time."

"If you're still alive and in one piece," Severus muttered.

The comment drew a hiss from Narcissa, who pulled herself up straight and shifted as if preparing for an attack. Severus likewise took a deep breath as they prepared to continue whatever they'd been arguing about earlier.

Before Lucius raised his cane on them in frustration, Draco held the toadstool in front of both of them. Narcissa and Severus both blinked and stared at it, leaning forward. Lucius froze in mid-strike, partly because he couldn't tell who to hit first and because he had no idea what Draco was holding.

"Is that...?" Narcissa whispered.

"It can't be," Severus said. "Not this far north."

"But it's freshly plucked," Narcissa said.

She took it in her hands, gently cradling the delicate stem and button top and turning it over.

"You only find these in Germany," she breathed.

"Find what?" Lucius looked at her hands, then up at her and Severus as if they'd gone from irritating to baffling. "It's just a toadstool."

"'Just a'--" she gasped, looking at him in horror. "This is not 'just a toadstool'."

"It's a Todesstuhl Gernet," Severus said in the tone Draco had heard in the classroom. "Worth fifty galleons for one powdered ounce. To find an intact specimen--"

"Draco, where did you find this?" Narcissa demanded.

"Over there," he answered, pointing. "Where you can see the muggle town. That's not the only thing growing there, either. I'll bet some of the stuff in your workshops took root."

Severus took a step in that direction, but Narcissa grabbed his sleeve and yanked him back as she looked at the sky.

"What time is it?" she asked. "Damn that we don't have a decent clock."

"Yes, we do," Lucius said in a wounded tone. "I bought it myself--"

"A potions clock," Severus added, looking at the stars with her. "More attuned to the planet than the ministry --I'd say seven."

"Six forty," Lucius snapped after a quick glance.

Narcissa and Severus both gave him a look.

"You're sure?" she asked.

"You're the ones who never learned to tell time by the stars," he said.

But she was already turning away, no longer listening to him.

"Not long after sunset," she said, pulling on Severus' sleeve. "That's enough time to gather plenty before they lose their potency."

"There's a basket in the cellar," Severus said. "And empty bottles. I'll be right up."

Narcissa nodded. They both shot off in different directions, leaving Draco satisfied and Harry and Lucius wide-eyed at how fast it happened.

"But..." Lucius said softly, as if he'd lost an argument and didn't know how it happened. "I told them no making potions in the cellar."

"I wouldn't be surprised if they set up a cauldron on the lawn," Draco said. He glanced up at his father. "Better than arguing, though, right?"

"Marginally," Lucius said. "And it does mean I'll get my writing done without them jinxing each other."

He looked at Draco and sighed. "Severus did have a point, though. He usually does, though we never admit it."

"I know what I'm going to say," Draco reassured him. "And we've all gone over Skerren's Hollow a dozen times. It's safe."

"We still need to be prepared in case the worst happens," Lucius said. "Practice your dueling with Harry. If you can hold him off, you'll be fine against anyone else."

Harry blinked to hear praise from Lucius, but the head of the family walked away before he could say anything. With one more glance at Narcissa, stepping aside as Severus hurried by, Lucius disappeared downstairs.

"Is he all right?" Harry asked. "He doesn't usually say anything good about me."

"He's tired," Draco said. "It's the trade off for being the head of the family. He has all the responsibility, too. Besides, no matter what he says, he does respect you."

Draco put his hand in Harry's and tugged him to one side.

"Come on, I want to show you something."

Letting himself be led, Harry smiled and followed him into the bare bones of the manor, climbing over long beams of wood. "I think you've shown me everything. You even took me around the hill."

"Well, you should know how far our property extends," Draco said over his shoulder. "Besides, I haven't shown you everything yet. There's still the pond now that father's out and of course I have to show you all the secrets in our forest. And then just wait 'till the manor's redone and I can show you all the hidden passages."

"Like between the walls?" Harry asked. "I thought those were just in the movies."

Draco huffed. Ages ago, Harry had explained what movies were, but Draco couldn't understand why anyone would want to sit and watch people pretending when they could read the story and pretend for themselves.

"They're real," he said. "Handy, too. They're the only reason I got away from the dark lord."

Bending under beams, stepping over pipes, Draco relied on his memory to guide them between the unfinished walls. If more had been finished, he was sure he could tell which room was which, but without the familiar paint and carpets and decorations, he only knew without looking where the pool and the green house would stand.

After taking Harry in a circle twice, Draco stopped and looked at what would be the front door, then stared at the ground.

"Here," he said, pointing at the unfinished beams. "The secret passage will go behind father's study. It'll run to the hall where we'll put the portraits, but it'll also come out here, under the stairs."

He swept his gaze over the exposed bones of the Manor. For a moment, Draco saw it all clearly in his mind.

"I can still fit there, but not like I did before," Draco said. "I used to love sitting in the closet under the stairs. No one would find me 'cause I could slip back into the passage. I'd read for hours with my hand of glory burning next to me--heh, got me out of having to go to all sorts of parties, but now I think father was glad I was out of his hair..."

His voice trailed off. Where were the questions? Harry was too quiet.

In fact, Harry looked like he was about to throw up. He turned away and grabbed one of the wooden beams, leaning on it as if he had been punched.

"What's wrong?" Draco put his hand on Harry's back and came around, trying to see his face.

"It's nothing," Harry said, shying away.

"Like hell," Draco said. "Tell me."

"It's really nothing," Harry said, but he turned sideways, away from the stairs. "Just--just a couple bad memories hitting me at once."

Draco's look softened. "The dark lord?"

"No, and you can say his name," Harry said, looking more tired than he should. "You helped me kill him."

"Harry, what were you remem--"

"It's just from my old muggle home. That's all."

His muggle family. Draco schooled his face to look nothing more than concerned, but inside his heart, his hatred swelled. That Harry had been forced to live without magic among muggles was worse than a crime. It was an obscenity, like wallowing in filth. He knew very little about Harry's time with them, content that they were in the past and relieved when Harry didn't want to invite them to the wedding. Relieved that Harry never spoke about them.

Hadn't his husband never brought them up to spare Draco's refined sensibilities? Draco had been happy not to question him, and now that he thought about it, that meant he had no idea where these muggles lived, what Harry's life had been like.

"Your muggle family," Draco started slowly, drawing out the words. "You know, I think this is the first time you've mentioned them around me."

Harry half shrugged. "I'm sure I said something before."

"Just what you did there, never them." He took a deep breath. "Harry, for all my faults, I've never pried into your life before me--"

"--and I appreciate that."

Stopped. Like walking into a wall. Draco winced. There was something behind that wall, he was sure of it now. Something painful, or else Harry wouldn't try to hide it. Later, if Draco schemed for time, he could ask Severus what he knew about Harry's muggle family.

"All right," he said, letting Harry win. He stepped in close, forcing Harry to hold him, and the embrace was stiff at first, as if his husband expected him to try and trick some kind of revelation from him.

Damn. Draco knew he was getting too predictable if that was happening. Changing his strategy, he melted into Harry's arms, resting his head on his shoulder. After a moment Harry relaxed and held him firmly in return.

"I should probably be grateful you haven't pried into my life," Draco started, filling the air with light prattle. He took Harry's hand and guided him away from the house again, into what would be the garden. "My family could tell you stories...like the time a ghoul chased me through the house."

"A ghoul?" Harry chuckled.

"A little one, but it looked big to me. Or the time I blew up the greenhouse."

"You what?"

"Just half, sounds worse than it was. In my defense, mother left her ingredients out and Sev' left a spare cauldron on the floor, and I was running from father after I started a fire in his library--"

"You were a handful as a child, weren't you?" Harry laughed.

"None of it was really my fault," Draco said.

"Of course not," Harry smiled indulgently. "All terrible accidents, right?"

"Of course, see, you believe me. No one else did at the time."

As they wandered toward the pond and the handful of trees surrounding it, Draco spared at glance at his mother kneeling in the grass and picking flowers like a young girl. Beside her, Severus was seated canted on one curled up leg, the other stretched on the ground at his side. Between them, they already had several bottles laid out and a knife for the delicate task of taking cuttings rather than uprooting the whole plant.

No doubt they intended to let the plants grow and Draco wished he could sit beside them and gather handfuls of rare flowers and toadstools. But they needed time alone without hurting each other, and he wouldn't interrupt them for the world.

"So," Harry said, drawing his wand. He cast risana on a clump of weeds that sprouted wildly, twisted on each other and formed thick, man-sized targets.

"What should we practice first? Or maybe we should work on your aim, since an attack could come from anyone in the crowd."

Draco shrugged. "I'll be too nervous to do anything but run."

"Knowing how fast you run, that should be enough," Harry said only half in jest.

When the day actually came, however, Draco was dismayed to see that there wasn't much room for him to run at all.

The handful of days between him and standing in front of a crowd of light wizards flew by, and as he peeked out from behind a tall oak tree, he wished he had those days back.

Safernoc Forest was easily over a thousand years old. Over that time, most of the forest had been charmed in some way and hummed with the power of a millenia's worth of spells. The canopy was so thick that Draco could barely see the sky between the leaves, and the ground was hidden in murky shadow. Several torches around the crowd kept the gloom away. He was sure that more would have to be lit as the sun sank, or else no one would be able to see anything.

Fortunately no one could see him at all until the shimmering glamour was lifted like a curtain from the hastily-constructed stage. Like fog, it hid a handful of Knights and his family as Lucius and Severus made last minute preparations.

Most of the people seated he recognized--Dumbledore, Scrimgeour, Griselda Marchbanks, Shacklebolt, indeed most of the aurors, and towards the side both Rita Skeeter and Luna Lovegood. Both of them held a quill to take notes, so Draco assumed Lovegood was there to report for her father.

He felt a little better that no more than fifty people could cram into Skerren's Hollow. The hollow had been used for generations as a meeting place for the Knights of Walpurgis, and they only needed to gather a handful of people at a time for nightraids. The naturally sloping sides and tall trees hid the low land from passing aurors and wandering muggles alike.

"You all right?" Harry whispered, looking over his shoulder.

"No," Draco mumbled. "I know there are knights all around us and I can apparate out if I have to, but..."

Harry nuzzled his hair. "You'll be fine. Most of that crowd wants this to work. If a fight breaks out, they'll be on your side."

Snorting, Draco turned away from the crowd and threw his arms around him.

"I'd rather be home," Draco said. "Or shopping with you in a muggle town. Or even trying that pizza mess you were on about."

"You'd like pizza," Harry said. "It goes good with grape soda."

Quiet footsteps came up behind them.

"Draco," Severus whispered. "It's time."

Giving a tiny nod, Draco stepped back and took a deep breath, then stood at the side of the stage while Lucius walked into the fog. His father had the easy part, introducing him, but at least Draco would see how his father carried himself in front of a crowd. He'd never seen him working the school governors or ministry officials in large groups, and he hoped to measure up. If he concentrated on that instead of fifty or so wands potentially aimed at him, this wouldn't seem so intimidating.

The glamour disappeared at Lucius' touch, blowing away as if the wind took it. Lucius raised his head and stared at the crowd, picking out a bit of red hair that stood out from the rest. Draco's brow furrowed. Arthur Weasley must have received one of the handful of invitations Harry had been given. He was too low level to have been invited otherwise. The murmur of the crowd fell silent as everyone focused on Lucius and, at the far end of the stage by the trees, Draco and his husband.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Ministry," Lucius began, "we are honored that you trusted us enough to come. Because we cannot forge any lasting peace between our cultures if we do not understand each other, rumors and legends and misunderstandings must be put to rest.

"Tonight you will learn the basics of dark magic. Dark magic isn't the horror that many believe, but it will confirm some of what you've heard about us. It may disturb or frighten you. The hollow has been charmed to allow no apparition in, but you may apparate out at any time.

Lucius paused as if deciding whether to add something, then made up his mind and continued.

"The dark community does not do this lightly. It goes against every instinct we have, everything we've learned since the war began. Everything we know is passed down orally with few exceptions. Exposing our magic and our way of life is simply not done.

"Tonight we are breaking a very old tradition," he ended. "Hopefully by the end of my son's time with you, it will be clear just how monumental this is."

And with that, he turned with a small flourish that swept his cloak just enough for a dramatic touch as he came offstage. Severus leaned down and whispered in Draco's ear, "don't screw this up," then gave him a nudge.

Alone as he walked in front of the most important government officials and most experienced aurors, Draco forced himself to keep his head high and his voice clear. But his shoes on the wooden stage made him feel like he was walking across the gallows instead. In front of all of them, Draco felt like wyvern in front of dragons. Taking a tip from his father, he picked a face from the crowd, the least intimidating, the most familiar--

\--Luna smiled at him and crossed her legs at the knee, and he noticed that she was wearing slippers made out of folded newspaper.

Despite himself, he smiled back. No longer in front of fifty officials, Draco was simply explaining a new kind of magic to a girl who wanted to learn.

"To talk about dark magic," he began, "is to talk about history. Your spells are rooted in Latin while ours are rooted in the old languages, and the schism is more than a thousand years old. It starts around the Roman invasions, with your patriarch, Merlin, and most importantly to us, Morgan le Fey."


	6. Wherein Draco runs away from home

Starting the lecture was easy. For the first half hour he repeated the same lessons he'd given to Granger and Harry--the war between Merlin and Morgan, the dark wizards' flight to France, and the beginning of the schism itself, the sacrifice of a dark witch to bring back the rain.

Disapproval. He saw it in their eyes. Unease. Disgust. He didn't give them the details he'd told Harry, didn't describe the way his ancestors cut her with small knives until they drove themselves into a frenzy. It didn't matter. These light wizards seemed to know how it happened anyway.

Even if they didn't, the nature of the sacrifice didn't matter. Their frowns were not as forgiving as Harry's. There was the soft pop of an apparition as someone vanished, their mind made up against him. To them, it didn't matter that the girl had been a dark witch. Draco's ancestors had violated strong taboos using blood and death.

Draco sighed. Impossible to make them understand why blood was sometimes the only solution.

"There's nothing left of that night except our memory of it," he said. "None of us wrote an account of it. Her bones are long since gone. But we remember her. We have no choice but to remember her, to remember all of our dead."

Breathing deep, he raised his head and faced them.

"There are two costs for using dark magic," he said. "Dark magic is heavier than the magic you use, and we must cleanse it from ourselves. Otherwise it could destroy us."

"The other cost can't be removed. Every night, sometimes every other night, we dream the deaths of our ancestors. I remember every Malfoy before me because I see them in my dreams. Mariana Malfoy burned at the stake. Jeanine wasting away in a dungeon awaiting the same fate. Alfador, Eason, cut down as they ran from mobs of muggles. Colette, stoned in the street while her children escaped. Every night I die or watch my family die.

"This is why we never have to write down our history, and why we protect our bloodlines. We experience all the fear and pain that they felt as they died throughout this war between us."

He gave them time to process what he'd said. All of them thought of their family trees, remembering if any of their family had boasted around the dinner table that they'd wiped out a nest of dark wizards.

Their emotions warred on their faces. Killing dark wizards was different when they were around to call it murder. And yet none of them could forget the night rides, the muggles slaughtered for ingredients, the way dark wizards aligned with Voldemort so readily. They all held silent. Impasse. He had to change the subject.

"It isn't my intent to cast blame," he finally said. "There's no point to that. But the way we remember our history and our families is vital to understanding the way we cast magic. Most families don't have a written grimoire. Dark children couldn't waste time with a heavy book if they had to run. We certainly have no schools.

"Instead we apprentice ourselves to our parents or to close friends. The apprenticeship usually lasts until we come of age or if the master and student are separated unexpectedly."

Although he described his own example of working with Severus and preparing potions, he carefully omitted the part about serving as his master's blood supply. If his listeners didn't condemn him after this lecture, he might tell them about necromancy in the next lecture. Until then, he didn't want to overwhelm them with aspects of dark magic that they would find taboo.

An hour's time raced by. As he paused to catch his breath, he lightly touched his throat. Unused to speaking for so long, his throat felt sore and his voice sounded raspy to his own ears. He glanced at the moon and found that it had ghosted through the trees while he spoke. He couldn't read the sky like his father, but he estimated how much time had passed and felt relieved that there hadn't been an attack.

"I'm afraid that's all the material I had prepared," he said finally. "However..."

He faltered. If he continued, he risked blurting out something he shouldn't, and yet the room was still tense. He didn't want the lecture to end with everyone still so suspicious, especially not with the reporters present. Knowing he might anger his father and drive Severus insane, he plunged forward.

"However, you've listened in good faith and I know you must have many questions. Since we have a few minutes left, I'll try to answer any you have as best I can."

A slight hiss and a quick intake of breath to his right told him he'd correctly guessed his family's reaction, but they didn't try to stop him. If that was because they didn't dare interrupt him or because he'd paralyzed them in shock, he didn't care to guess.

No one spoke, each self-conscious about being the first to speak, but after a moment, a hand shot up in the middle of the crowd near Arthur. As people leaned away to see who it was, Draco gave a half-groan, half-sigh. Of course she would be the first to ask.

"Yes, Granger?" he said, smiling if not at her then at the absurdity of the situation. All this time, and he was still answering her damn questions.

"About the way you use one word for a spell," she said, ignoring everyone staring at her the same way she ignored everyone in class. "You said before that you don't need to add words to your spells like we do."

"Like mobiliarbus," he nodded.

"But," she said, "I know I've heard you add words to your own spells before. Like fyria raebaena or haetus heorte. I remember those."

He sighed, annoyed that she would notice. Granger seemed to notice anything that made him look weaker.

"Yes--they're like cheats. I mentioned that dark magic depends on the spell caster's will. Fyria raebaena appears like a flaming ribbon, but it isn't necessary to add raebaena to create that effect."

"Then why bother?" she asked.

"Because dark magic already requires a great amount of power. It's easier for most of us to add a word to shape the spell. In fact, some of our spells can become so long that they sound more like songs. But if someone were powerful enough, they wouldn't need the whole song. They could cast the same magic with one word."

Someone else, a Ministry official he didn't recognize, asked their question almost before their hand was up.

"Could You-Know-Who do that?"

Draco tried not to let his aggravation show, but he hated their term for Voldemort. It set his teeth on edge, as if he'd bitten into celery. At least "the dark lord" sounded more ominous, even though he knew Harry felt the same way about that, too. You-Know-Who made him sound like a joke.

"No," he answered. "He didn't have access to those spells. That was why we had to keep our grimoire out of his hands."

Now Arthur raised his hand.

"But if he was a dark wizard, wouldn't he have those spells in his memory? Wouldn't the dark magic have swallowed him since he couldn't cleanse it like you do?"

Draco's look flitted to Dumbledore, but the old wizard didn't reply. Draco grumbled to himself. Here was the question he'd asked before but never received an answer to. How did Voldemort survive as a dark wizard without the community to help him? Without cleansing rituals or lessons or family to guide him through those first years? He was sure Dumbledore knew the answer.

"I don't know," he said. "Perhaps he was simply strong enough to survive the accumulation of dark magic."

He half-smiled. "It isn't something I want to find out. Harry wouldn't forgive me if I came home looking like that."

The tension broke. Chuckles rippled through the audience and several of the older witches couldn't stop tiny smiles from escaping as they glanced at Harry as his face flushed red. Draco breathed out in relief and was about to again thank everyone for coming and wish them a safe journey home when--

"Is it true you dark wizards are crossbreeds?" Fudge asked, rising to his feet to make sure everyone heard.

Draco half-raised his arm as if shielding himself from the question. His mind blanked. He knew he had to speak, but the silence stretched as he tried to think of something, anything. Nothing came. Any answer was too dangerous. If he admitted that they mixed with animals for the sake of keeping pure--

"There's no way I can answer that now," he breathed.

"But there are rumors," Cornelius continued, knowing Draco was trapped. "When You-Know-Who attacked Hogwarts, there were reports of dark children transforming into monsters as dreadful as his army. An ogre, a half-spider, a werewolf--surely those aren't animagus forms."

Feeling everyone's stare, Draco wished he could vanish back home. If only he'd been quicker about ending it. But there was no way to escape and Cornelius knew it.

"I don't think you understand," Draco said, sick at the trembling of his voice. "I can't answer every rumor of crossbreeding or eating children or all the other stories told about us."

"I'm only asking about one--"

"And I can't answer because we're still afraid of you," Draco snapped.

He stood straighter, glaring at Cornelius as if he were less than mud on his boot. He was a Malfoy, a pureblood, a hero of the battle of Hogwarts and Harry Potter's husband. Arrogance was his best weapon and his crossbred blood was far more pure than this sycophantic peasant.

"My father already explained this but perhaps you didn't hear," he said. "The dark community does not reveal itself lightly, not because we're evil or secretive but because we're afraid. The things I tell you, you may someday use against us."

"Are you accusing me of plotting against the treaty?"

Draco carefully measured his words. He had no doubt that Fudge had him on the edge of a trap, but he couldn't stop now for fear of appearing calculating to the crowd.

"I'm saying there are whole families we are still petitioning to have freed from Azkaban, still laws on the books against owning heirlooms that you call dark artifacts. We have taken a terrible risk in exposing ourselves to your judgment and we will only continue to do so--"

He swallowed his rising nausea and tried not to shake so noticeably.

"--continue to make ourselves vulnerable to your attacks when we can hope that your attacks won't come."

No one spoke, although most of them looked at Fudge to see if he would say something else. He didn't. Fudge sat down slowly and nodded once as his aide whispered in his ear.

Draco looked at him a moment longer, then breathed out and put his hand on his head, trying to dull the rising pain.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you again for listening. Please direct further questions to either the Prophet or the Quibbler, and I'll try to answer them the next time we do this."

Awkward applause followed him off the stage. He was in Harry's arms the next moment, apparated home before he could speak. A lonely owl's hoot came on the night air, comforting in its stillness.

"It's all right," Harry said, still holding him. "It's all right. You're safe. You did it."

"I ruined it," Draco mumbled. "I had them and then I let them ask questions and it all went to hell. Oh God, what if I ruined all our plans?"

"You didn't," Harry said. "You couldn't see yourself. You looked so scared, and then when you brought up families in Azkaban--I could feel the change in them."

"'Change'?" Draco echoed. "I reminded them we're so evil that our children have to be imprisoned."

"No, Draco, no--"

Harry started to shake his head, but the pops of apparations interrupted him. Lucius appeared first, gripping his cane under white knuckles. Severus appeared a second later at his side, but he moved to Draco's and faced Lucius. Draco took a deep breath. His father's face looked like a mask frozen in anger, wide eyed and pale.

"Father, I didn't mean--"

"Don't bother with excuses," Lucius bit. "I know why you did it, and you have the good fortune of it ending in our favor--no, don't ask. This isn't a conversation."

Cutting off his own question, Draco turned his head slightly and stared at the grass at his father's pacing feet. This was worse than he thought. He tensed even more when Severus touched his shoulder. If Severus was comforting him in front of Harry...

"I've learned something of your misadventures in Hogwarts," Lucius continued, sparing a glare at Snape. "Although you've done your best to keep the more scandalous details from me. Things about showing Dumbledore our magic, teaching that Granger girl."

Severus' hand tightened, Draco's only clue that his father's comment had hit its mark. Neither dared speak in their defense.

"But I hadn't thought you'd grown this reckless," Lucius said. "Thank God you've made it work for you so far, but tonight--for God's sake, all the meticulous planning and details and security and then you go and ask them if they have any random questions? Little fool!"

Every word hit like a fist. Draco struggled to breathe as the tirade continued.

"Just imagine what they didn't get a chance to ask. Have we turned their adored Boy Who Lived into a half breed? How many children do we sacrifice? How often do we bathe in human blood?"

Harry grimaced. "But you don't."

"That's not the point," Lucius said, shaking his head madly. "They word it so that we're already guilty, so we have to waste time defending ourselves. And if they knew what that was--"

He glared at the honey amulet hanging around Harry's neck. Harry reflexively covered it with his hand, tucking it back under his shirt.

"They'd have Draco locked in Azkaban before you could protect him." Lucius looked sideways at his son. "The dark community may find it endearing that Potter wears a child's toy, but the Ministry would see it as an attempt at a real love potion. Trying to control their savior--"

"But he didn't," Harry said, stepping in front and ignoring Draco's frantic whisper to stop. "It wasn't like that. He just didn't know how to deal with being in love with me."

"You think they'd listen to you?" Lucius demanded. "You're as evil as we are now."

Before Harry could answer, Lucius growled and turned aside, refusing to look at either of them. His hand clenched tight around his cane and the wind swirled his cloak around his feet. Draco blinked as he realized that his father was wearing his old Death Eater costume. He felt a spike of anger. His father scolded him for reckless behavior and yet he'd gone before the Ministry in his cloak and dark robes. They were lucky no one had noticed the distinctive hood, even if it was pushed back.

"I could accept this stupidity on any other day," Lucius continued, "but to risk the entire community with such a ridiculous question--I can't trust you to act intelligently."

Draco's breath caught in his throat as if he'd been slapped. Lucius didn't notice.

"You've proven this venture is too risky. To continue would be foolishness, especially after your display. It's too dangerous. I can't trust the outcome if you're in front of them--"

"Lucius..." Severus spoke over him, raising his voice finally to get his attention. "Lucius!"

Lucius blinked and looked at him without understanding.

"Listen to yourself," Severus whispered, as dazed as Draco. "He's your son."

A snort. "I recall two others there when he was made."

The night wind grew heavy. Draco turned away and stepped back from Harry and Severus, trying to to catch his breath. His father had never spoken to him like this. He thought he'd been growing in his father's esteem as he rescued him from Azkaban, marshaled the dark community--one comment and all of it was forgotten. One slip and--

"Draco," Lucius said. "You'll stay here until I say otherwise. There will be no more trusting the Ministry. Severus, this goes for you, too. If I even think you're communicating with Dumbledore again--"

"But I swear I didn't," Severus protested, dragging his frustration into his voice.

"You've kept secrets from me before," Lucius said. "I think you trust that mudblood traitor more than me."

Wounded pride and fear mingled in the air as they kept arguing. Lucius' voice began to rise, drowning Snape's insistence until Severus groaned deep in his throat and stared into the distant muggle town as he realized Lucius wasn't listening anymore.

Draco put his hand in Harry's.

"Apparate us," he whispered. "Now."

"What?" Harry asked.

"Now," Draco repeated. "It doesn't matter where, just apparate us now."

Lucius heard the hissed command and snapped around, eyes flashing. He opened his mouth, but the crack of the spell cut him off anything he said.

Snow.

Streets made of pavement, not cobblestone.

Strange lights that burned without flame or magic.

Draco shivered and pressed hard against Harry, hunching his shoulders as the wind cut across his back. He'd forgotten how bitterly cold the snow could be, sheltered from its bite in warm carriages and theaters and gardens spelled to ward away frost. Now he felt the cold winding around his heart like a serpent, squeezing so that his whole body hurt. He gasped and crossed his arms tight.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

A bark of a laugh rose up before he could stop it. Snow flurries dotted his hair as he pushed it out of his eyes, refusing to look at his husband.

"Perfect," he said through a bitter smile. "Just betrayed my family, that's all."

Harry didn't answer.

"Sev's probably catching hell for my sake. I've disobeyed my father. Ruined any chance we had to make them trust us and--oh God, my father."

Blinking too fast, Draco sat down hard in the snow. Dealing with Fudge had given him a headache, but his father's scorn had made him sick to his stomach. Harry's refusal to say anything made it all worse.

"You would've been happier marrying a Weasley," Draco blurted. "Big family fawning over you, scores of children, no politics or fighting."

His eyes pricked with pain that had nothing to do with the cold. He wanted Harry to kneel down and hold him, but Harry didn't move. Draco's cold heart hardened. Of course Harry wouldn't. Harry knew a few dark spells, but that didn't make him a dark wizard. What did he understand about a lifetime of lies and abuse and being scorned for being born different?

"You wouldn't get sick of Weasleys," Draco muttered bitterly. "You wouldn't hit them for saying the wrong thing. Pureblood jokes are fine--how we're all inbred and stupid and weak and--"

He choked. Was Harry still there? Usually when Draco sank this low, anyone standing nearby left him, even his friends. No matter. Even if Harry was still in front of him, Draco felt alone.

"I want them dead," he whispered, and his voice was loud in the night air. "I can't help it. I want them all dead, all the bloodtraitors and mudbloods and muggle nits."

After a long moment of silence, Draco finally remembered a world outside of his self-pity and looked up.

Yes, Harry was still there. Harry still said nothing, but his face had tightened.

Draco tucked his head down and shivered. He didn't care if he made Harry angry. He didn't. Why shouldn't he say what he believed? Why did he have to hide parts of himself from someone who swore loved him? Harry wouldn't even say anything now, glaring with his jaw clenched.

Draco drew a shuddery breath. Harry didn't love him. Couldn't. Harry loved mudbloods and if Draco so much as thought that word--

He remembered what Harry's fist felt like on his face, throwing him to the floor.

Draco curled up tighter.

Harry sighed, the same deep grumble as when he'd punched the wall beside Draco's head. Irritated, angry, offended--Draco knew that sigh. He'd heard it often in Hogwarts. The tip of Harry's wand touched his knee, and Draco tensed for the jinx he knew was coming.

"Haetus," Harry said.

Warmth spread through Draco's cloak, driving away the cold so fast that for a few awful seconds he thought he'd been set on fire. Harry bent, extending his hand not to help him up but to cup Draco's face, running his thumb just under his eye. Draco blinked and shied back as a drop of moisture trailed from the corner of his eye.

Harry didn't say anything, just held the teardrop between them. Draco turned his head. Melting snow, that's all it was. His face burned hot and there was plenty of snow on his face.

"Come on," Harry said, grabbing his upper arms and hauling him to his feet. "I have to see you to do this right."

"What?"

Harry's wand touched his chest, and Draco took a step back, slipping on a bit of ice. He steadied himself on the streetlamp behind him and held his breath.

"Sciftian."

Gasping--Harry was going to change him into an animal, he just knew it--Draco looked down, expecting to see his body covered in white fur or his hands turned into paws stretched out in fear. Instead his robes had turned into what looked like pajamas -- a black shirt with stiff blue trousers, and a second spell had his cloak wrapping around his body to make a stiffer, bulkier shirt. Harry reached around him and tugged up the shirt's hood, covering Draco's hair.

Was Harry trying to humiliate him?

"They're muggle clothes," Harry explained. "Shirt, jeans and jacket. I thought you'd like a hoodie."

It felt like wearing boxes. Draco stroked the jacket's sleeve, grimacing at the way it clung to it. He looked down at his pants and tugged at its hem. Not understanding, he watched in a daze as Harry similarly transfigured his robes into muggle clothes.

"Harry?"

"You know, if I didn't know you better, I'd almost say you were trying to drive me away."

Draco was too distracted by Harry to answer. Where Draco's clothes looked tailored and trim, Harry's were ragged with white thread torn across his knees. The shirt was already a size too big, but Harry tugged his collar down until it was stretched out of shape. He then took Draco's hands and held them to his chest.

"There, that's better. Now...do you want to stay miserable, or will you let me try to distract you?"

Draco knew he should be grateful that Harry was still there. He knew he should nod and try to forget what had happened, that he should try to smile and apologize. Anything was better than standing with his head lowered, breathing in shaky starts and stops, but he couldn't speak. His chest felt like he was full of ashes.

"So subtle," he mumbled.

"Dwelling on it isn't going to make it better," Harry said. "Come on, maybe you'll be able to forget for a little while."

Harry put his arm around Draco's shoulders and took him across the street to one of the few places with light inside. If Harry hadn't opened the door for him, Draco wouldn't have recognized it. Made of steel and glass, it blended with the windows. A little bell chimed over his head as he walked inside. He waited for Harry to go in front of him, wincing at how harsh the lights were.

Similar to the Devil's Delights, it had tables with checkered cloths and a large sign with pictures and prices. Although he didn't recognize the food, some kind of orange triangle with red and green squiggles on top, he realized it was a restaurant. There were only a handful of muggles inside, a man and a child near the door and a woman at the far counter.

"Pick a seat," Harry said. "I'll get everything."

Nodding faintly, Draco headed to the back, careful not to touch anything. He chose a table in the corner where he could see the door and the windows and keep his back to the wall. Why did muggles use such harsh light? The soft golds and oranges of firelight were gentler at night.

The restaurant was tiny compared to the wizarding restaurants he knew. Just a few tables and the counter. He thought he recognized the scent of garlic in the air, but nothing else. Strange music played lightly, melodies that sounded like aliens trying to play wizard songs. He wiped the stray crumbs from the table cloth and put his arms on the table, resting his head. The hood fell lower, and he hid from the muggles in the folds of its cloth.

The sick feeling began to ease. His father's tirade had become a blur so he could only recall bits and pieces, which made it easier to let it slip from his mind. The anger couldn't be forgotten, but the shock still numbed him. His nausea had passed, replaced by exhaustion. He wished he was in bed with Harry.

He winced. He couldn't remember his father's insults, but he remembered clearly his own insults hurled at Harry. Deliberately trying to hurt him. A sense of undeserved relief flooded him. No one endured his vicious tantrums without leaving. Only Harry weathered his storms and come through without hating him.

"It should be ready in a few minutes," Harry said as he came back, sliding into the opposite chair with two drinks. "Here, I got you grape."

Draco pulled it close. At least the grape soda was familiar. Taking a sip from the straw, Draco reached across and covered Harry's hand with his own. He couldn't meet Harry's eyes.

"Thank you," he breathed.

Harry took his hand and brought it to his lips, kissing his knuckles. He didn't try to say anything or press Draco for answers. They both knew Draco loved him. And they both knew they'd have to go home eventually. Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He had to go home, even if it was to find out it wasn't home anymore.

He kicked himself for his stupidity. A lifetime of obedience thrown away. He would have married anyone, followed the dark community to the ends of the earth, but he balked at a few angry insults. No wonder everyone called him a brat. Or a fool.

Something clattered on the table. Startled, Draco drew back as Harry held up between his fingertips what had appeared between them--a ring and a slip of paper rolled inside. On the ring was a serpent curled in the shape of an S--but it wasn't his father's. It didn't have glittering diamond eyes. Made of silver and jet, it didn't draw attention to itself. Severus' ring.

Draco pulled the paper free and lay it flat on the table.

Where are you? -S

Severus' handwriting was too long to read upside down, so Harry turned it so he could see. He looked up at Draco.

"You don't have to answer," he said. "We can always stay in a hotel until--until it's all sorted out."

Tempting.

Impossible.

"There are limits to how disobedient I can be," Draco murmured, eyes downcast. "If I haven't crossed them already. Besides, if I don't answer, he'll be frantic."

Harry glanced over his shoulder to make sure none of the muggles were watching, then transfigured a napkin into a pencil. He wrote a note with the name of the restaurant and slid it to Draco.

"Will he be able to find us here?" Harry asked.

Draco nodded without explaining. Severus would know his way around the muggle world. As paranoid as Severus was, he probably had the town memorized in case of an emergency.

Rolling up the note, he slipped it into the ring and whispered "Severus Malfoy." The ring vanished. Hoping his father wouldn't suddenly storm inside and shout at him some more, he sat back and stared at the pencil. Why would anyone prefer that over a quill? Much more elegant, and a quill didn't have to be sharpened all that often. And if he got the expensive self-inking, always sharp quill like his father had--his thoughts trailed off.

"Malfoy?" Harry echoed. "If he took your name, why does he go by Snape?"

Draco half-shrugged. "So he doesn't draw attention. That's all."

He trailed off into silence. His stomach was twisting into knots and untying itself over and over.

"Harry?"

"Mm?"

Did the Weasleys ever complain about their parents? Do light children have to obey like we do? What about Granger and her parents? Do muggle children quarrel with their parents? How did you grow up? What was your family like? Did you run away before? Did they find you and drag you home? Did that make things worse, or did they realize they loved and needed you and treated you better?

"...nothing."

Withdrawing into himself, Draco turned and leaned his arm on the table, resting his head in his hand. Harry idly stroked his hair, sitting silently. Draco didn't move when he heard the door open and the bell chime.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Severus spot them in the back and breathe out in relief. It took Draco a moment to notice that he wasn't wearing wizarding clothes. Funny that Severus didn't look all that different in muggle clothes. His black coat looked almost exactly like his robes, covering to his neck and his wrists. Snow blew in after him, but there were no flakes on his coat. Even camouflaging himself among muggles didn't mean sacrificing appearances.

Ignoring the muggles, Severus pulled a chair to their table and sat down. Severus looked at Draco for a moment, but when Draco didn't say anything, didn't even twitch, Severus turned to Harry. They both steeled themselves. They still didn't like each other, but they both loved Draco. Helping him was worth a truce.

"How is he?"

"He's still in shock," Harry said in a whisper. "He was shaking when we got here, and then he looked like he expected me to hex him."

"Let me guess," Severus said, glancing between them. "He threw a tantrum."

"Close enough," Harry said. "Tried to make me angry. Said I'd be happier with the Weasleys and when that didn't work, then that he wanted all bloodtraitors dead."

Draco refused to look at either of them.

"He's like his mother that way," Severus nodded. "Lucius treats us like property when he gets scared, tries to keep us close. But Narcissa, she'll push us away even if she has to get vicious."

"Draco's done that a few times," Harry said. "It never works."

"It doesn't work on you," Severus said, emphasizing the point. "Even his friends couldn't stand to be around him often. You know how he gets when he's really scared. It's a wonder he didn't drive them off completely."

Draco smacked the table and stared at the worn checkered cloth.

"Stop talking as if I wasn't here," he growled.

"Stop acting as if you aren't," Severus said.

At first Draco didn't move. Harry thought he might simply apparate away and they'd spend days finding him again. He was about to touch Draco's hand when his husband moved, facing them and putting his elbows on the table, holding his head in his hands. He still wouldn't look at them, but neither pushed. Draco fought to keep his breath steady, but little gasps and chokes slipped out.

"Am I still part of the family?" he whispered.

For once, Severus looked like he wanted to hold him. He tensed and breathed in, and his hand rose slightly from the table. But they both knew that if he touched him, Draco's control would shatter. So he kept at arm's reach and kept his voice steady.

"Of course," he said. "You will always be our son. Lucius would die before he disowned you."

"Then why is he doing this?" Draco said, his voice raw.

"Because he panicked," Severus said. "You didn't see him when Fudge attacked you. He froze. He thought Fudge would whip the crowd into a mob and that we'd watch you die right there."

When Draco didn't answer, Severus looked over his shoulder to check if Lucius had followed him, then leaned closer as if telling a secret.

"I know it hurts, but you mustn't blame him. I could see it in his eyes. His nightmares and memories rushed back on him--if you hadn't ended it when you did, I think he would have commanded the Knights to attack. He was terrified for you."

Roughly wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, Draco sat straight. "He doesn't hate me?"

"He loves you," Severus said. "Draco, until now, you haven't seen him frightened. I have. He lashes out and locks us away until he's sure it's safe to let us go again. It's cruel, but--it's how he handles fear."

Severus gave a bitter laugh. "He's just like you. Hell, I've seen him panic worse than you sometimes."

"He isn't a coward," Draco whispered harshly, offended that he'd suggest it.

"And neither are you," Severus snapped. His patience was clearly nearing its end. "You both like to say it, but you're not."

"Severus--"

"I'm in no mood to argue something so obvious," Severus cut him off. "Especially since I swore never to insult your intelligence again. I knew I shouldn't have promised that."

Anger surged in Draco. On the table, his left hand curled into a loose fist. Damn his pureblood sentiments, the only reason he didn't swing at Severus was that his injured hand wouldn't do enough damage. That, and he suspected that Severus knew how to brawl like a muggle. Lucius always said never start a fight you can't win.

But why hadn't Harry said anything? Draco looked up at Harry, who met his look with wide eyes. He was probably wondering how they could be so spiteful to each other. The Weasleys certainly never acted like this. Even with so many red haired children, they always had a room or a bed for each one. That was never in doubt. They never threatened to disown each other. They never threatened each other at all.

"Were you sent here to insult me?" Draco said. His voice shook, with hurt or fear or anger, he didn't know. "After what father did? I should know better than to hope they'd ask me home, but this--"

"Actually," Severus said, ignoring Draco's temper, "his exact words were 'ask, beg, plead, grovel, and if he still won't come, stun him and let Potter carry him back'."

Draco fell silent. Lucius was mad if he thought Severus would beg, but that his father told him to try...

Severus adjusted in his seat. Only now did Draco notice that Severus kept one hand under the table where they couldn't see, perhaps already holding his wand.

"Your place is home in the Manor. With us. You are our child," Severus said.

Under his soothing words, Draco heard the subtle stress of "our." Severus rarely claimed him so openly as his son. It was a welcome balm on the wound Lucius had torn.

Draco breathed out.

They wanted him.

They wanted him so much that they'd steal him back.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry lean forward and grasp the edge of the table, so tense that he trembled. Draco put his hand on Harry's, but his husband cut him off before he could speak.

"You're talking about him like he's property," Harry snarled at Severus. "An investment."

"Of course. He is." Severus glanced at Harry for a moment. "We've invested so much in him that it would kill us to lose him. He has no choice but to return home, whether he wants to or not."

Deathly still, Draco glanced sideways at him. Severus looked back, too calm and composed. Of course he didn't expect Severus to beg, plead, or grovel, but Draco wondered if he had come here with his mind made up to stun him. Not the way Draco wanted to arrive home, draped in Harry's arms--or worse, draped in Snape's arms over a stunned Harry.

Afraid to move, sure that Snape would assume he was going for his wand, Draco met his eyes and remembered that this wasn't just Sev'. The dark mark still marred the skin of this man's arm.

"Sometimes I forget I'm in a family of Death Eaters," he whispered. "Would you really force me like that? After what father said?"

Snape's look softened marginally. "We want you home. We need you."

A quiet, sad laugh escaped from Draco as he closed his eyes.

"Thank you."

Looking back and forth from Draco's relieved smile to Snape's nod of acknowledgement, Harry's jaw dropped.

"Are you crazy?" Harry demanded. "They hurt you, they'll drag you back, and you're happy?"

Draco didn't know how to answer. He wanted to rewind time so he never asked the crowd for their questions. He wanted his father to not be furious. He wanted his headache to stop.

"Why are you so surprised?" Severus asked Harry. "He has a habit of loving people who hurt him."

Harry hissed his breath, but he choked on his answer. The corners of Snape's mouth barely turned up, but Harry noticed. His fingertips curled against the table like a claws, reminding Draco of a lion pawing at the ground.

"Both of you, stop it," he whispered. "I'll go home."

Severus nodded as if he never doubted it and half-rose from his chair.

"After we eat," Draco added.

Severus stopped. "What?"

"I haven't eaten all day," Draco said. "I'm tired and starving and I'm not taking either of you home just so you can duel on the lawn. And don't you dare argue, Sev'. I'll never forgive you if you take me back before dinner."

Slowly sitting down again, Severus looked at him sideways as if he might see a wire loose in his head.

"By all means," Snape said, wondering if Draco was about to throw a tantrum. "But...muggle food?"

"He likes grape soda," Harry offered. His smile was grim. The sting of Snape's comment about hurting Draco wouldn't fade soon. "I usually bring him some when I come home from the Ministry."

Severus frowned slightly. "I never noticed."

"Hid them in my robes," Harry said. "I didn't want Draco getting in trouble for liking muggle things."

For a moment, Severus didn't speak. When he did, he didn't look at Harry but stared at the red tablecloth, carefully choosing his words.

"I don't think Lucius or Narcissa would mind as much as you think," he said. "You've turned your back on muggles and Draco despises them. It would be all right to bring home one or two things from muggle society."

Harry stopped smiling. "You mean like they brought you home?"

Draco and Severus both looked up in shock. As Severus caught his breath, he turned to Draco, who shook his head quickly.

"I didn't tell him," Draco said. "I swear."

"But then how--?" Severus started.

"I just figured it out."

They stared at him in silence. Wondering how long Harry had known, Draco also wondered if this counted as another time he'd lied to Harry. He didn't think so, but his husband had strange ideas of what was a lie and what wasn't. Harry especially hated him keeping secrets.

"I kept thinking about it," Harry said when they wouldn't talk. "After Draco said he knew who the Half-Blood Prince was, and then when the potions book disappeared out of our room. I guess it just clicked when I saw you come in here. No pureblood would know how to look like a muggle."

Severus stayed quiet, thinking over his mistake. Draco hoped that Harry didn't press the subject too hard. Fortunately Harry felt how sensitive this was and didn't take advantage of Snape's discomfort.

"I'm not pureblood," Harry said. "Neither are you. So how can the Malfoy family stand having us?"

Draco knew why, or at least he knew his own reasons. But he wanted to hear Severus' thoughts and so didn't speak. His parents were so secretive that an answer to question like this might not come again for years.

"We've given up everything to join their family," Severus said. "Dark wizards understand sacrifice. Joining the dark couldn't be done halfway. The light and our previous families had to be renounced completely."

Harry turned that over in his head. Harry had left his own family without trying to contact them again, without ever mentioning them. Draco wondered again what Harry's life had been like, and he promised himself that he'd ask Severus later on for the details. Draco knew he could never renounce his parents. He wondered who could.

"Then anyone could be dark," Harry mused.

"No," Severus said quickly. "Few families would do this. A few years ago, none. You may hate him, but Lucius is the most open-minded pureblood I've ever met. A miracle considering what Abraxas was like."

"He wasn't as tolerant?" Harry asked.

"...he had Lucius whipped for befriending me," Severus said softly, "and nearly had me killed. So no, not as tolerant."

Before Harry could think of something else to ask, Severus stood and took something out of his pocket. Draco couldn't see it clearly, just a blur of red and white that crinkled when Snape held it.

"Come outside when you're done," Severus said. "I'll be waiting."

He disappeared out the door just as the muggle behind the counter told Harry that their food was ready. Draco was so lost in thought--whipped? He'd never seen that in his father's diary--that he didn't even taste the strange dish that Harry called pizza.

Would Abraxas have hated him? Draco had Severus' mixed blood in his veins. Children borne from cauldrons were acceptable to the dark, but would his grandfather have treated Narcissa as less since she couldn't bear a child? Would Abraxas have tried to kill Harry? Would he have given the grimoire to Voldemort?

Draco tried to bring to mind his grandfather's face and only recalled a vague blur. He knew his genealogy, he had seen Abraxas' empty portrait many times, but he could not remember his face. Strange that he'd never dreamed of his death.

Lucius had been whipped. Severus, nearly killed. Abraxas, dead and erased. Draco wondered if this was only the first twig off an entire broomstick of scandal in his family, then wondered if maybe Lucius had thought he was being extremely lenient by only attacking him verbally.

He thought he understood his father better after reading part of his diary.

Unable to organize his thoughts, he reached across the table and held Harry's hand, reassured by the soft squeeze in return. Harry was his anchor in a world that more and more felt like shifting shadows, like too much darkness had gathered and needed to be cleansed.


	7. Wherein Draco meets Harry's muggle family

Although relieved that he was still a Malfoy, Draco put off returning home as long as he could, dawdling over dinner. It wasn't easy. Harry seemed to like pizza, but it was too greasy and salty for his taste. After the third slice, he had to put the crust down and lean back in his seat.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

"Sure," Draco said softly. "What time is it?"

"Half past twelve," Harry said. "We've been here awhile."

"Mm," Draco replied. "Good. Father should be a little less angry with me, then."

He took his half-finished can of grape soda and went to the door, watching the snow come down. The streets turned white and gold under the streetlamps. He could see familiar patterns--signs advertising shops, gutters and mailboxes--but the shapes were alien to him. The corners too precise, the bricks too measured, and the light were glaringly harsh. The muggle town felt as if Diagon Alley had been twisted just a few degrees, which made it more foreign than if it had been dwarf caves or fairy hollows.

After a moment, he looked over his shoulder at Harry, who was watching intently, looking for any sign that Draco might come apart.

"Come on," he said to him, finishing his soda and throwing the can away. "I'm tired."

He watched Harry, raising an eyebrow as he stacked the paper plates and trash, wiped the table with a clean napkin and then threw everything away. Harry also spared a moment to set the napkin holder in the center of the table again before coming behind Draco and putting the hood of the jacket over his blond hair.

Like a house elf, Draco thought to himself, leading the way out the door.

Harry's behavior bothered him. He wiped down tables like a servant. At home, he picked up clothes where Draco dropped them, straightened the bed in the morning and organized their closet when it was messy. And the clothes he'd made himself were too big and threadbare, as if someone else had worn them out and thrown them away.

Someone had to know why Harry acted like an elf.

Dumbledore? No doubt he knew, but Draco also knew he'd never tell. The headmaster kept secrets like a book with a broken lock.

The Weasleys? Probably, but he wouldn't lower himself to speak to them unless there was no other option. They were damned hard to intimidate or blackmail, and he wasn't about to befriend bloodtraitors.

Granger? Again, she probably did, but she would run straight to Harry and tell him that Draco had asked--

The world suddenly tilted as he slipped on a patch of black ice. Bracing himself to hit the concrete, he instead fell backwards against Harry, who held him for a second, then put him back on his feet.

"Mind the ice," Harry whispered with a smile.

Returning the smile, if a little shakily, Draco took a breath to steady himself. "Why? You're here."

Draco lingered so he could enjoy Harry holding him a little longer, but he felt Harry's hands shivering. He turned and touched Harry's chest, grimacing when he felt how cold he was.

"No warmth charm," he whispered, looking up in shock. "Why didn't you--?"

"Didn't think about it," Harry said. His voice shuddered as the wind cut over them. "You know you have to remind me to get charms on my clothes."

"I have to remind you even when it's snowing?" Draco demanded.

There was an alley beside the pizza parlor. Severus stood just inside, out of sight of the rest of the street.

"Whine at him later," Severus grumbled, grabbing Draco's hood and yanking once. "I want you safe at home right now."

Giving Harry a look that promised the scolding was not over, Draco followed Severus into the cramped space between buildings. Draco was glad it was too dark to see as something cracked and squished under his shoes.

"Ready?" Harry asked, holding him tight.

"Yes."

As usual, Draco closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were at the front gate of the fence ringing the Malfoy estate. Severus appeared a second after and ushered them in, following and locking the gate.

Lucius was waiting for them. Leaning against the frame of what would be the manor's main door, he stared at the ground lost in thought, only noticing them when he heard the gate clang shut. He stood straight, holding his cane tightly, but he didn't move towards them.

"Draco..." Severus started. He didn't finish his thought.

He didn't have to. Draco understood. Whatever disagreement Severus had with Lucius, either they had solved it or it was not something he wanted dragged into Draco's conversation with his father. Draco didn't want any other disagreements dragged into this conversation, either. He nodded to Severus and whispered to Harry to give him some time with his father. It took a moment to convince Harry that he'd be all right, but after promising to come to Harry if there was any problem, both of them retreated to the cellar and Draco stood alone.

Reassuring himself that Lucius would not have had made Severus bring him home if he was just going to boot him out of the family, Draco swallowed his nervousness and went before him, waiting for his father to make the first move. The wind blew past them, bringing with it snow flurries and frozen, brittle leaves.

"I should not have done that to you," Lucius said, his voice low and soft. "I'm sorry."

Relief filled Draco's heart, followed quickly by guilt. Now that he wasn't going to be turned out, he could afford to apologize. Draco shook his head once, not looking at him.

"I disobeyed you."

With a sigh, Lucius glanced up at the sky. "I should have died by now. The longer I live, the more likely it is that you'll disobey."

Not a comforting thought, if tonight was any indication as to how his father reacted to disobedience. Especially since he wasn't ready to not have his parents around. A thought came to Draco.

"Father, did Abraxas really...?"

He didn't have to finish his question. Lucius stiffened and didn't look at him. The disturbing sense of aloofness and disdain came over him again.

"Severus has been talking, it seems," he said softly. He cast a glare at the cellar door.

"Don't..." Draco sighed in frustration. "Don't blame him. He was defending you."

"Some things are not to be repeated. Ever."

There was a tone in his father's voice that he didn't recognize. Confident, deceitful, angry or calm--that was what Draco was used to. It took a long moment before he realized that he'd never heard his father sound so guarded. As if there were secrets Lucius was afraid of his own family finding out.

"I'm relieved he told me nonetheless," Draco said, forcing a lighter tone. "It made me realize how lenient you are with me."

"'Lenient'?" Lucius echoed, wide-eyed. "Dear God, you think I would--my own son?"

"I've heard of it happening in other families," Draco said. "Crabbe got it once for bringing home muggle smokes. After everything I've revealed to the Ministry and marrying Harry, I'd be lucky if grandfather left any skin on my back."

"'Skin'," Lucius repeated, at first frowning and then gasping in understanding. "Oh--the whip--that's what Severus--? Of course. Of course."

A rare slip of his father's tongue that Draco would have to examine later, although he thought he knew what it meant. He knew his father's hands were drenched in blood, but he didn't know how to feel about the possibility that Lucius had murdered Abraxas.

"I wouldn't," Lucius promised. "I even had the damn thing burned afterward. I know I'm not always the most--"

He fumbled for the right word and, when he found it, forced it out like he had a mouthful of thorns.

"--considerate person," he admitted. "But I won't hurt anyone in this family."

Small comfort if Draco found himself thrust out of what Lucius considered family, but Draco imagined that such a thing took a lot more than disobeying a few orders. If Severus had been truthful, then Draco would have to try to murder his own kin.

He suddenly smiled.

"That's why you let me marry him, isn't it?" he breathed, but he was so confident that it wasn't a question. "Sev'."

Lucius had been whipped for loving Severus. A half-blood. Lucius couldn't deny the same love to his own son.

"Annoying as your husband is," Lucius conceded with a small nod. "Yes. But I must say, even as I wish you'd found someone with some semblance of breeding, the union is advantageous for us. The Boy Who Lived, paragon of virtue--"

Draco almost snorted.

"--hero and champion of all that is right and good in the world--he gives us greater standing with the rest of society. I don't think we'd have come even this far with the Ministry without him vouching for you, and by proxy, the rest of us."

"You mean vouching for the dark community?" Draco asked. "But Harry's barely said anything about them. Fighting against the dark lord--"

"I meant us as a family," Lucius said. "If he's the hero, we're very much the villains, but his marriage to you cleared away a host of practical sins. I'm sure you've noticed the difference."

"Too many differences to tell if I like it or not," Draco said.

The bare bones of Malfoy manor's first floor stood around them, and he sighed and sat down on what would become the frame of the drawing room window. His father could stand without rest for hours from years of practice in the Ministry's marbled halls, but Draco preferred to recline.

"The shopkeeps on Diagon alley still have a taste for the galleons I spend," Draco said. "But now they know I'm dark instead of just suspecting it. The disgust is there, but they won't hurt me because of this truce. And whenever I'm with Harry, they look at me like I'm his dog on a leash."

"But you practically told him that already," Lucius said. "I think your words were 'yes, I am a viper, but I'm your viper'?" He laughed lightly. "Severus is right. Malfoys have a flare for the dramatic."

Draco's breath hitched and he felt his face heat up.

"How did you--?"

Lucius shook his head with a faint smile.

"Don't be surprised. Your mother can pry information out of the most secretive wizards. Potter didn't stand a chance. I'm sure it was only her discretion that kept her from discovering your bedroom details."

"Oh God..." Draco muttered, silently swearing to strangle his husband.

"You're doing a good job of housebreaking him," Lucius said. "But while it's nice that we don't have to worry that he'll embarrass us, it will take much longer to train him to be subtle and discrete."

Draco doubted that would ever happen at all.

There was little else to say. As gratified as Draco felt to get an apology, he felt horribly awkward and knew that his father must have felt the same. It was a relief to climb downstairs into the cellar and creep into Harry's arms. In the cold, damp burrow, Harry held him as if nothing would tear him from his grasp.

As he closed his eyes, Draco thought how funny it was that Harry was bony and angular with hard edges at his shoulders and hips and elbows, but he was more comfortable than a mattress. His calloused hands were warmer than a blanket.

"When we get our bedrooms," he whispered, "I'll still be sleeping on top of you. Just fair warning."

Henry kissed the top of his head and tightened his grip, readjusting him more for his comfort. Draco closed his eyes and let himself drowse.

There were murmurs and whispers beside them. Narcissa soothed the emotional wounds Lucius had torn on Severus, and in turn she reassured Lucius of his fears made worse by watching half his family disappear into the muggle world. Even if only for half a night, Draco and Severus had vanished into a world where he couldn't follow, and the anxiety was visible under the confident veneer. Draco peered between his eyelashes, watching her kneel between them, serving as a bridge over their differences.

Draco wondered what that was like, having a third wheel that stabilized them and brought them closer than they could be if they were only two. He didn't think he could do the same. He couldn't share Harry with anyone. He didn't think Harry was the sharing type, either.

Lucius had grown up being wealthy enough to have whatever he desired, and arrogant enough to believe that he could hold onto whatever he took. Severus and Narcissa sometimes pulled so hard that Lucius seemed that he would tear in half, and he noticeably eased his authority whenever they didn't threaten to rip each other apart. Draco imagined that after years of living together, his mother and master learned to reserve their fights for more subtle sniping under their breath and behind Lucius' back. He still didn't know how his father put up with it, but perhaps Lucius had learned to ignore their rivalry when it was obvious that they still loved each other.

In either case, their chatting was noisy, even if it was all whispered. Draco hoped he'd have his own bedroom soon. With his parents coming back to friendly terms, it was hard to fall asleep.

He was still exhausted when noon rolled around. He grumbled as sunlight streamed onto his eyes from the cellar door, suddenly flung wide as Lucius came downstairs. Something heavy thumped on Draco's back, but he had plenty of practice ignoring morning people, and he instead buried his face in Harry's shirt.

"Has Draco ever gotten up on his own?" Harry mumbled, picking up what Draco could tell was a newspaper rustling over his head.

"On occasion," Narcissa said from the corner, looking up from her book for a moment. "If he's had his ten hours. Or when there's something he's rather excited to attend."

"So not very often?" Harry smiled.

"I'm afraid he gets that from Severus," Narcissa said.

Draco frowned and peered at her from the crook of Harry's arm. "Sev' said I get that from you."

"You get it from both of them," Lucius said, cutting off Narcissa's reply. "There's a reason they can traipse through the forest after midnight looking for ridiculous flowers. Neither of them wakes up before ten."

She snorted and muttered something about irritable morning people before going back to her book.

Lucius sat down at his table and leaned back in his chair, staring at the newspaper he'd flung open. He skimmed it, then sighed and glanced sideways at Draco.

"I admit you pulled it off," he said slowly, "but if you ever do anything that stupid again, I'll take this whole family to France just so I don't have a complete breakdown."

Still yawning, Draco reluctantly turned in Harry's lap so he could see the Daily Prophet. The torchlight on the wall and the candles on the table made it hard to see, but he was too comfortable to sit up for a better look.

> _**Dark Magic Revealed** _
> 
> _by Rita Skeeter_
> 
> _Merlin, Morgan, murder and nightmares--the subjects that enthralled and disturbed the select audience of last night's lecture on dark magic and its practitioners. For security reasons, the location of the clearing in Safernoc forest was kept undisclosed and wards were set to allow no apparation in, and the invitation-only list included Aurors, Ministry officials, Hogwarts professors and journalists. Although the Aurors helped with security, the constant presence of the Knights of Walpurgis, cloaked and standing guard around the clearing, emphasized that this program was very much run by wizards long distrustful of the Ministry._
> 
> _Lucius Malfoy began the evening, impressing upon us just how unprecedented this event is. Indeed, his demeanor was quite different from his usual aloof air of confidence. Dare I say, this reporter believes he may have let his true nervousness slip in front of a crowd of the enemy? Not that anyone could blame him. If our positions had been reversed and I stood in front of a crowd of dark wizards, I would probably be nervous as well._
> 
> _However, it was Draco Malfoy who gave the lecture in earnest, reprising his role in Hogwarts as he expanded upon my previous interview with him, beginning with the war between Morgan and Merlin..._

Draco read down the column, waiting a few seconds as Harry turned the pages and quietly pleased to discover that he read faster than his husband. The article held no surprises until they reached the bottom, and Draco touched the corner of the newspaper to hold the edge still.

> _Draco Malfoy has his father's knack for appearing calm and confident, but an attack during the impromptu question and answer session left him noticeably shaken. Former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge stood and demanded to know whether or not the Malfoy family are crossbreeds. For our muggle born readers, the question is far more loaded than simply asking if they were closet halfbloods. A crossbreed is a creature born of a union of two different species. Crossbreeds on record include the Deneb family who had crossed with an ogre and, famously, Melusine of folklore who was crossed with a serpent._
> 
> _Crossbreeds are not like centaurs, who spend all their time in their hybrid form, but are more like animagi in that they change into the form of the creature whose blood they have mingled with. Some purebloods families are rumored to have resorted to crossbreeding generations ago to safeguard themselves against inbreeding, but it was little more than a rumor until last night._
> 
> _Fudge's question brought not a denial but rather a fearful appeal to the wizarding world's conscience. Young Malfoy, looking suddenly quite vulnerable alone on stage, insisted that he would not answer out of fear of what the Ministry might do to him and his family, reminding the audience that entire families languish in Azkaban because of laws that have not been altered to keep pace with society's rapidly changing opinion. Dark magic is still punishable by heavy fines for those who dabble and life in Azkaban otherwise. The dark community places a great deal of faith in the good will of those who would have imprisoned them not long ago, as much of them stand in confession of criminal acts as defined by current law._
> 
> _This point was raised loudly by the audience of last night's lecture, thought sadly not before Malfoy had excused himself from the stage, trembling as he rushed into Harry Potter's arms, to be whisked away by his husband._
> 
> _Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour informed Fudge that he will not be attending any further events, and after apologizing to Lucius Malfoy, assured him that a formal apology would be forthcoming. While the Minister also made clear that this apology stands separate from any practices of dark magic that may lie beyond the pale of what the Ministry is willing to accept, Scrimgeour's rapid diplomacy may have saved the two communities from an unsalvageable schism._
> 
> _This reporter looks forward to the next lecture and hopes that young Malfoy will again be the speaker, as his lecture was scrupulously forthright even when the unvarnished truth clearly could have damaged public opinion towards him. While future open question sessions are likely impossible after Fudge's attack, questions may be submitted in advance to this newspaper._
> 
> _As always, a transcript of last evening's lecture will follow for archival purposes..._

Draco breathed out in relief. Lucky. Nothing but luck about it. He hadn't ruined their chances. He hadn't ruined anything. If this were to be believed, if he'd stayed for another moment, he would have seen the crowd turn on Fudge and heard Scrimgeour's apology to his father.

"If only I didn't run at the first sign of trouble," he whispered, but wistfully, knowing it was something he couldn't change in himself.

"It worked for us," Lucius said, with the faint air of conceding a point.

Surprised, Draco looked up at him. His father didn't give him this kind of assurance often.

"If we act like we aren't afraid," Lucius said, "then we run the risk of appearing overconfident. A little vulnerability may serve us in the long run, make us more sympathetic."

Harry smothered his snort and folded the newspaper.

"It's amazing," Harry said softly. "Even when you're trying to make peace, you're still scheming."

"You say scheming like it's a bad thing," Lucius countered. When Harry didn't take the bait, he looked back at his son. "Draco, do you have any plans for the next speech?"

"Not in the slightest," Draco grumbled. "I don't even want to think about it. I just want to sleep for a year."

"Knowing you," Lucius said, "you could. Very well. You'd best stay here for a few days, wait and see if there's any violent backlash. Don't leave the grounds. If you need something, owl Severus."

"Where is he?" Draco asked. "He's out early."

Standing, Lucius straightened his robes.

"Yes, he's pilfering weeds along the edge of the Longbottom estate," he sighed. "Said he could do it a lot faster and easier if he was alone."

"They're not weeds," Narcissa insisted. "They're destrure-heriberga mushrooms. We need them--our sleeping draughts are almost out."

"I'd rather suffer insomnia than let him roam someone else's back yard," Lucius said, touching the bridge of his nose as a headache grew. "The Longbottom's have vicious safeguards around their house."

"He won't go near the house," she said. "He knows better than that. And they think the mushrooms are worthless, so they won't notice anything. Besides, even he can't stand being cooped up for so long. A little sneak thieving is good for him."

Lucius didn't answer. After a moment, he went back up the stairs and disappeared again, leaving Draco to happily fall back to sleep in Harry's arms.

The next handful of days passed in a dreamy languor for Draco. He listened to his parents come and go, brewing potions up on the grounds or examining potential laws at the table. Occasionally Harry rousted him out onto the grass and practiced dark spells with him, or worked on Draco's quick draw. Baths were taken quickly in the pond--quickly because the night air chilled the water--and meals were boxes from either Soulis Cauldron, the new restaurant in Diagon Alley, or Li Min's Take-Out from the muggle town.

Until finally Draco woke up to the news that the workers had pushed hard during the day and that the lower floor was complete enough to live in.

The walls were bare of even paint or paper, the carpets not yet in, the windows unfinished and the air still smelled of sawdust, but Draco saw the skeleton of his home slowly fleshing out. The kitchen was functional, the dining room and the hall were sound, and both the parlor and the library had fire places, although the chimneys were not finished.

The dungeon had been dug out from under the rubble and the cells were sound, even if the bars of the steel doors had been blown out. Lucius decided to move himself, Severus and Narcissa there so the three of them could spread out and claim some much needed privacy.

That left a small room on the other side of the manor, behind the parlor and next to the deep pit that would eventually become the pool. While his husband examined the view from the parlor windows, Draco stood in the doorway and imagined where he would put their bed and his desk.

Things were looking up, Draco thought, and for the first time in weeks, he felt as if he could breathe again. With the manor coming along, the Daily Prophet in hand, society a little mollified and the Ministry wrangled somewhat by his father, Draco now had time to devote to a personal goal.

Why did Harry behave like a house elf?

Which took Draco back to another question.

Who had raised Harry?

Specifically, where did the muggle vermin now live so he could find them and ask them himself?

Courteously, of course.

But how to find out? He'd already dismissed Harry's friends and associates out of hand. No one would give him a straight answer, knowing his nature.

So he would rely on his nature instead.

That evening, the bare bones of furniture had been delivered and moved in. Harry shrank down the heavy oak bed to a third of its size and floated it in, maneuvering it through the doors and into the corner. He looked over his shoulder at Draco, who nodded once, and set the bed down.

"A shame we couldn't find a decent four post bed on short notice," Draco murmured. "But this'll do for now."

Harry stared at the bed, a heavy mass of wood and feather stuffing that made the floor creak. It looked like something out of a ritzy hotel, something that should be dripping with cushions and fancy blankets. Grimacing, he looked back at Draco.

"This isn't fancy enough?"

Smiling, Draco walked over and sat down on the mattress, sinking slightly in the thick fabric.

"No," he answered with a soft shake of his head. "Not nearly."

Harry sighed. "I don't think I can sleep in something this fancy, let alone anything worse."

"There isn't anything bad about a nice bed," Draco said. "It's not what you're used to, but give it a chance."

While Harry opened his mouth to argue, Draco reached to his collar and undid the buttons at his throat, moving down his chest to his waist, where his robe flared slightly. It wasn't the dramatic line that Severus favored, but it parted at his hips just enough to let him walk, and when he sat, it fell open naturally. As always, the movement made Harry's voice trail off as he watched.

Draco let the robe fall off his shoulders. He toed off his shoes, then lay back across the bed. For the first time in months, he felt comfortable, as if he could spread out and breathe and relax.

"My own bed in my own home again," he whispered, then glanced at his husband. "Our bed. Our home."

Harry sat down next to him, touching his hand. His own gaze was somber, and he managed a weak smile.

"Sorry," Harry breathed.

"'Sorry'," Draco echoed. "For what?"

"I didn't mean to sound judgmental. It's just hard to adjust to sometimes."

"But adjust to what?" Draco asked.

"Being a Malfoy," Harry said. He looked down at the floor as he spoke. "I don't fit in here. I'm not..."

"Deceitful and selfish?" Draco whispered.

"Rich," Harry said, squeezing his hand. "You're not evil."

"Never said I was," Draco said. "What's wrong with being rich? You are, in case you'd forgotten your bank account."

"I know," Harry said. "But I don't feel rich. I was more comfortable on the ground, I think, with you in my arms."

"Even with my parents there?" Draco teased.

"Even with them there," Harry said. "Mm. Maybe partly because they were there."

Now Draco raised his head, his eyebrows furrowed.

"You can't stand them," he said. "My father, Sev..."

"I can't stand some of the things they've done," Harry said with a slow nod. "Night rides against muggles, serving Voldemort, hurting people."

Draco didn't reply, waiting for him to finish. Hoping Harry wouldn't leave it at that and say something else. To his relief, he did.

"But it was war," Harry said softly, as if speaking to himself. "I understand that a little now. I know what it's like, being afraid and fighting people who want to hurt you. I understand about wanting revenge."

Draco raised his eyebrow at that.

"Then why don't you?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"You want revenge. Why don't you take it then?"

"I..."

Harry paused, thinking. Long seconds passed and Draco wished he was a legilimens. Life would be so much easier if he could read Harry's thoughts.

"I don't want to," Harry said, but his voice was forced and thin. "Besides, there's no one I'd want revenge against."

A lie if Draco ever heard one. Damn. He knew Harry was lying, but to bring it up would make his husband shut up tight, just as he had when they saw the staircase. Draco knew better than to push yet.

"So you don't want revenge on my parents?" he asked in a light tone. "That's good to know. I'll tell them the happy news in the morning. But what did you mean about them being in the same room helping you put up with them? I mean, they have a history of flinging food and glassware."

With some of the tension melting away, Harry smiled and lay down beside him, rolling on his side. Draco lay still and allowed him to touch, to kiss his throat and the back of his hand.

"I don't mean that they haven't gotten on my nerves," Harry said. "Because they have. But I used to think they were so cold and reserved and...well, controlling. It's good to see them act like normal people. I'm glad all the things I'd heard were wrong."

"'Heard'?" Draco echoed. "Like what?"

"I heard your father ruled the family like a tyrant. I used to think you lived under the constant threat of being beaten or disowned."

Draco grinned. "Mm, yes, I know that rumor. At Hogwarts, everyone was so sure I'd be disowned if I was even seen with a mud--"

He winced. The word had nearly slipped out, but it had been in his head and Harry knew. He always knew. To Draco's relief, Harry just sighed and closed his eyes in exasperation.

"Well, at least it was a month since the last time you used it," Harry sighed. "You're getting better."

It wasn't a disease to be cured, Draco thought irritably, but he said nothing about it. Harry never threatened to hit him and put up with his occasional pureblood slips, the same way Draco put up with Harry's resentment with wealth.

"Um, now that we're on that subject of bloodlines, actually," Draco started, glancing at Harry from the corner of his eye. "There's something I was wanting to ask you."

"About what?"

Draco caught the subtle warning in his husband's voice. He doubted Harry even knew it was there. They could talk about Draco's parents, but Harry's family were ghosts just out of sight, not to be mentioned.

"I wanted to ask your permission. There's a potion I want to try, a formula really, another charm like that coin I gave you months ago. We're still not out of danger and I would feel a lot better if I knew you were protected, but I know dark magic makes you nervous. I didn't want to--"

"It's okay," Harry said, touching Draco's lips with his fingertips. "It's not your fault the magic makes me nervous. I have to learn to get over that anyway. What did you want?"

"A little of your blood," Draco said, and he sat up as he spoke faster. "Just for a locater spell, so I can find you any time. It wouldn't hurt and I only need a couple of drops, I promise."

Harry straightened, his brow furrowing as Draco rushed. It wasn't like him to grow so agitated, not unless he was afraid of something. He would've been worried if Draco didn't startle at his own shadow sometimes.

Draco held silent as he waited. He couldn't guess what Harry would say. After being scolded for saying something as simple as mudblood, he never knew how Harry would react to spells based on blood. As Harry paused, Draco started to squirm. Harry wasn't examining this too closely, was he? A charm with Harry's blood could find his husband, yes, but it could also find his muggle family. He hated to think of his husband sharing any blood with muggles, and the more he thought of it, the more certain he was that Harry was thinking of it. After a long moment, he shook his head once. Better to give in and try again later.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have asked. I know blood magic bothers you--"

"No, I'm sorry," Harry started again, in slow, measured words. "Using blood bothers me, but...it isn't bad. It's just different magic. I have to get used to it, that's all. You're a dark wizard. I'm not going to try to change that."

Draco felt sick. It was the same feeling as when he wanted to smash his honey charm. Harry sounded so understanding, so eager to believe the best in him. And instead, Draco made love charms and poisons, and now figured out a way to find Harry's muggle guardians without his knowing.

Damn it, why was lying getting so hard? He'd felt triumph when he first made the honey amulet, thinking he was tricking Harry into loving him, but the triumph had turned to despair all too quickly. Now that he loved him, why did lying to protect him feel just as bad?

"It's okay," Draco said, hearing himself sound reassuring and loving. "Dark magic sets people on edge. Even in the dark community, some of the spells can be too...intense."

Harry smiled despite his ill-ease. "Intense. S'good word for it."

Draco smiled back. "So may I?"

"Yes."

Before the word was completely out, Draco was sitting up and conjuring the only potions knife they had. He hoped he hadn't just yanked it away from his mother or Severus, but to his relief, he didn't hear shouting or angry footsteps as the knife appeared at his hand.

"You won't feel anything," Draco promised, motioning for Harry to give him his arm. "It's charmed so there's no pain. It's what I usually used."

"When you had to give blood?" Harry asked.

He grimaced and leaned close, letting Draco's cool fingers curl around his wrist, both of them close enough to feel the other's warmth, the pure sensation of being near each other. Draco spared a moment to lean closer, skin to skin. Normally he'd feel reassured, but as he rested on Harry's shoulder, the anxiety balled up in his chest and sickened him.

"Draco..."

Draco didn't answer. Was he being obvious? He couldn't seem to hide anything from Harry anymore. He wondered if his husband was ruining him. Lies and deceit came so easily in the past. His wits were bogging down around him, leaving him floundering in confusion.

"I have to ask..."

Harry was a warm blanket around him, but Draco turned cold. He recognized the feeling, the instant before a vase smashed on the floor, the silence after crucio is cast, just before the spell hits. Neither moved, tense and wary.

"...what do you want my blood for? Exactly?"

Even then, he could have salvaged it. He could have lied, recited a formula for protective charms. He knew many by heart. Harry might have accepted the lie.

Just like he accepted the honey charm around his neck.

Draco shifted to look at it and instead looked too high. He found Harry's stare, intent and deep--too deep, mesmerizing him like a serpent would a mouse, about to burn him and rip him to pieces for Harry to examine at his leisure--

Harry broke away first, clamping a hand over his eyes and turning.

"Oh God, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--" He growled at himself. "I thought it had stopped, I was controlling it--"

Harry's frustration clinched it. Draco was sure his husband could sense lies, and he didn't want that frustration to come from him. He felt like he'd been defeated before the battle had even started.

Use the distraction and forgive him by drawing blood, his old instincts told him. But he didn't. Ignoring Harry's apologies for his accidental legilimens, Draco stood, letting go of Harry's wrist. The knife slid from his hand to the floor, clattering on the hard wood, and the sound made Harry break off in mid-sentence. Draco didn't have to say anything.

Pausing, Harry stared at him for a long time. Draco took a few steps away from him, nervously looking over his shoulder when the silence dragged on.

"How do you always know?" Draco asked. He could barely see Harry's shoulder from this angle.

Silence again. Harry breathed out, let his hand fall to the bed, then rubbed his eyes wearily.

"You can't lie to me," Harry said, sounding tired, and he didn't go to Draco's side. "You tense up and look away. Every time."

"It wasn't a lie," Draco defended himself, but it sounded feeble in his own ears. "Just not the whole truth."

Harry sighed, and the sigh turned into an exasperated grumble at the end. "God dammit, Draco. Do you want me to trust you or not?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Draco said.

"I didn't mean to look into your mind, I swear--" Harry started.

Draco quieted him with a raise of his hand. "Not that. Although that's the heart of it, I suppose. Legilimens and occlumens. You can see everything I am, and all I can do is try to hide it. I can't look into you."

A self-deprecating snort. "There's nothing special to see."

"I thought you were special enough to marry," Draco snapped, "politics be damned."

He took a little satisfaction in how Harry couldn't answer.

"You know my mother, my fathers," Draco continued, and his voice grew brittle and strained, as if it was a wineglass ringing and about to break. "You know my home, my history, my magic, my secrets--I barely know anything about you. A bit more than the newspapers, maybe..."

"Draco...no. You know more than that..."

At hearing his name, he winced. There was no mistaking the hurt in Harry's voice. Draco groaned through his grit teeth.

"Oh, for God's sake--Harry, what I know about your family comes from the Prophet. I know a handful of your friends. I know you're honorable and honest and perfect and heroic." He closed his eyes. "I know your temper. And that's it."

"That's not true," Harry bit. "You know who my friends are. You just don't say anything to them. You know how awful my years in school were--"

"Really?" Draco said. "Winning house cups and the adoration of the--"

"'Adoration'?" Harry demanded. "Whose? Everyone hated me, they thought I was the heir of Slytherin. Everyone always--always looked at me. They thought I was a bloody freak show!"

As Harry's voice rose, Draco began to curl in on himself. He put his arms around himself, squeezing his eyes shut, wondering when Harry would get up and stomp towards him.

"You were a bloody hero," Draco said softly. "The freakshow was down in Slytherin. You had Gryffindor, the headmaster..."

"You had a family."

Harry said it in a dead flat voice. Draco frowned.

"And you didn't?"

"No parents."

"The muggles that raised you?"

"I don't want to talk about them."

"They're why you got sick looking at the stairs, aren't they?"

Draco turned to face him. Part of it was his fear of Harry's legilimens fading away, but part of it was feeling how the conversation had shifted. He had a little leverage finally.

"I said I don't want to talk about them."

"I heard you." He stared at Harry, never straight into his eyes, but he noticed how his husband sat with his arms pressed close to his sides, making himself as small as possible. "But they're still hurting you, and it's still part of you, and I don't understand it."

"What's to understand?" Harry mumbled. "They were bad. I left. End of story."

Draco shook his head. "I don't understand. You should have been fine with your family."

Harry laughed once, bitterly. A moment had to pass before he blinked and looked up.

"You really mean that, don't you?" he asked. "You really think family takes care of everything?"

When Draco didn't answer except with a confused look, Harry breathed out.

"You do. You mean you'd spend an evening with your Aunt Bellatrix?"

"That's different," Draco said, feeling his skin crawl at the mention of her name. "That's war. War changes everything. So what was your muggle family's excuse?"

Harry stared at him again, weighing something in his head. When he came to his decision, clearly making up his mind, he stood and came up beside Draco, putting an arm around his waist and holding firm when Draco shied back a step.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Harry said softly. "I promised that before."

"You're mad at me," Draco whispered. Bigger, stronger, more powerful--he dreaded what Harry might do.

"Livid," Harry agreed. "But I'll show you. I'll show you what you want to see."

As scared as he was, Draco touched Harry's shoulder and gave into the sensation of side-apparation. When they reappeared, they were on a muggle sidewalk in the dark, facing a house with its windows still lit. Draco found that he couldn't move. Harry wouldn't let go an inch, holding him as inflexibly as a statue.

Frantic, Draco looked down both sides of the sidewalk so fast that his head hurt, afraid a muggle might wander by like a starving wolf. There was no sound of footsteps, no shadow coming past the distantly spaced streetlights. They were alone.

He didn't feel any safer. He squirmed and wished they were back home.

Faint voices came from the house. They apparated again, and the sudden shift left Draco trying to catch his breath. They stood right outside the window, looking through a dining room and a kitchen to the living room beyond that. Harry tightened his grip, holding one of Draco's hands and pinning him against his chest to hold him still. Draco froze as the people came into view.

"Here," Harry whispered. "You wanted to see. Take a good look."


	8. Wherein Draco panics

The house itself looked like a trap baited with sugar. The walls were white and hurt to look at, covered in paintings of still-life fruit bowls in ornate gold frames. The light fixture was the weird, smooth thing Harry called plastic, shaped into a chandelier with royal blue lamp shades. Dust covered the finely spun china and lace tablecloth, and dead bugs dangled from cobwebs along the matching curtains.

Harry brought him right up to the glass. Draco squirmed, but Harry kept his grip on his wrists and pinned his arms at his chest.

"We're too close," Draco whispered, jerking against Harry's hands. "They'll see us."

"They're just muggles," Harry whispered back. "They can't fight you."

Lies, Draco thought, but the muggles were hiding inside and they might hear him arguing. He stopped struggling and pressed back against Harry, shivering as if he was in a blizzard.

Beyond the dining room, Draco looked through a stain encrusted, peeling kitchen and realized that the muggles weren't hiding. The back room wasn't wholly dark. A faint blue light flickered on and off with disembodied voices floating in the air. Draco held still, afraid that a muggle would pop up at the window and lunge through the glass.

Then the couch moved.

Draco's breath hitched. What he had taken for a couch was actually three muggles in a row. They shifted, breathed hard and tilted on the couch like living parts of the furniture. Writhing like grubs on a dead log, they jostled against each other for position.

As his eyes adapted to the dark and he saw them clearly, Draco felt sick to his stomach. Each of them was nearly perfectly round. Together they must have been heavier than the couch. Their faces were blank, empty of all but the most animal emotions.

"They're watching television," Harry whispered in his ear. "A box that tells stories. They never let me watch it with them."

"Thank God," Draco breathed. Thank God Harry had never joined those worm things, sat there mindlessly grunting.

Harry turned slightly, turning Draco with him, and showed him the stairs just visible through the dining room. Near the bottom steps he saw what looked like a cupboard barely large enough for rats, with a bolt lock on the front.

"See that?" Harry hissed. "There's a hideaway under the stairs. That's where I was. If I wasn't cleaning or cooking or getting hit by Dudley or shoved around by Vernon, they'd lock me in there for hours."

"...what?" Draco breathed. "No, they...it's like a cage."

"No books," Harry said. "No candle. No light. I sat there and waited. They kept me there 'till I got too big."

Draco didn't want to look, but he couldn't help staring at the muggles. He imagined sitting all alone in the thick dust and cobwebs, hoping those monsters would let him out. What was worse, being locked in or being dragged out?

One of the muggles dropped a crinkly bag to the floor. Crumbs spilled out, and the muggle picked the bag up and continued eating. Draco turned aside in disgust, staring at the damp grass at his feet.

"I cleaned up after them," Harry said. His voice sounded far away as he remembered, but when Draco tried to tug free, Harry didn't let him budge. "If I cleaned, then I got dinner."

Draco pressed his lips together. Eat? After looking at those things?

"They sent me to a muggle school," Harry continued. "A school for criminal children. They lied and said I was dangerous. If my magic hadn't kept me safe, I probably wouldn't have survived to go to Hogwarts."

Draco heard him, but his mind was still on Harry cleaning up after these things. A sick thought festered in his brain. Was Harry cleaning their mess so different from Harry cleaning up after Draco? He shook his head furiously. No, a few dropped clothes, rumpled bed sheets, a misplaced book--it wasn't the same as this. And Draco had elves; it wasn't as if Harry had to follow after him.

The fattest worm reached out and smacked the smallest one's head. It squealed and wriggled out of reach, suffering another hit as it rolled away.

"Looks like Diddums isn't minding," Harry whispered gleefully. "You know he's a boxer? It means he fights with his fists. He's trained. But he never went after Vernon. Dunno why. He'd win for sure."

The small worm came into the kitchen and turned on the lights. Draco gasped. In the harsh electric light, the creature became human, but what a disgusting example of humanity. Tiny eyes rolled in its fat face, and although it wore clothing, he grimaced at how its body bulged in places. The muggle didn't walk but waddled, and its round fingers barely seemed able to hold the bottle it rooted out of the tall white box.

"That's a refrigerator," Harry explained, but his explanation fell on deaf ears.

Draco felt nauseous. These were muggles? These were what hunted down his ancestors? When Jeannette, Isobel, Eason Malfoy--when they died, was that disgusting pig face the last thing they saw? A nightmare, a complete nightmare--sympathetic terror filled him as the thought of those things chasing him. So much more visceral in front of him, so much more real than a dream could ever be. He backed against Harry, pressing his face against Harry's neck, but he couldn't take his eyes off the muggle as it stood.

Draco's motion caught the muggle's attention. It stood straight and peered at the window, at first not sure that it had seen something, then with its eyes widening as it recognized Harry.

The muggle screamed, a high pitched shriek like a banshee, and it ran back into the dark room as fast as its legs could carry. A moment later, the largest muggle looked up and saw them at the window. Shouting in rage, it leaped up and came at them faster than he could have imagined it could move.

"Oh God oh God oh God--" Draco choked and tried to back away. Harry was like steel behind him, holding him fast.

"He won't hurt you," Harry said. "And you wanted to see what he's like."

Draco didn't hear him. He heard the heavy footsteps, the indignant yelling, the lock on the door snapping back. He heard his breath, harsh and quick, heard his heartbeat like a countdown.

"What are you doing back here?" Vernon demanded, coming onto the lawn. "You said you were gone for good."

"What, can't have a quick visit?" Harry laughed. His voice was strained, his laughter forced. "Reminisce about the old days?"

"You little freak," Vernon growled. "You little arrogant freak--"

Draco felt like ice. Why wasn't Harry moving, apparating, anything but standing there? Harry's arm around him was as strong as an imperio spell. Draco wondered if the fat muggle had even noticed him, but it didn't matter. The muggle was taller, broader, radiating pure anger and hate, and the closer he came, the harder it was to breathe. Eason chased through the snow, Isobel chained to the stake--the same fear, the same terror that pushed out rational thought until nothing was left but the horrible knowledge that death was right on top of him, death in the form of knives and fire and magicless faces with sick joy in their eyes--

Draco vanished.

Harry blinked and looked down. All he held was his husband's robes draped over his arm. A shiver ran up his spine and settled like a cold spot on his back. He held up the robes, expecting to see a white wyvern slipping away, but there was nothing. The robes were empty.

"Draco?" Harry whispered, then called louder. "Draco!"

Vernon thundered about not being ignored as Harry scanned the grass, afraid to move because he might step on Draco. He looked over the yard frantically for a hint of white scales, then looked up, hoping he'd spot the thin wings near the roof. Nothing.

Fear spiked through Harry. Draco would be terrified, slithering blindly and crawling into a dark hole, huddling there until he found enough courage to apparate home. If he wasn't run over by a car first. Or attacked by schoolboys. Or eaten by a bird. Or found by Death Eaters.

Vernon shouted again, but Harry didn't hear him. Using his wand like a flashlight, Harry swept through the neatly kept lawn, then searched the rain gutters and cracks along the wall. Nothing.

Harry turned around and around, hoping to catch a glimpse of a tail behind a garbage bin or the hint of a wing underneath a parked car. Had Draco crawled into the sewer? He hoped not, but in his panic, Draco might have done anything.

Under the hedge, along the wall, behind the house--Harry stunned Vernon just to shut him up and left him under the window, beneath a frightened Petunia and Dudley. Finally Harry jumped up onto the wall between the houses and scanned the neighbors' yards, but he didn't see Draco anywhere.

Frantic now, Harry apparated back to the Manor and ran inside, shouting for Narcissa. She appeared out of the dungeons in an instant, a little smudged from whatever potion they were brewing. Lucius and Severus came behind her, assuming they were under attack. Seeing Draco's robes draped over Harry's arm fueled their own fear.

"Where's Draco?" Narcissa asked before anyone could say anything.

"I don't know!" Harry wailed. "He wanted to know who my family was, and I showed him, but--"

"You left him in the muggle world?" Lucius said, his voice tight.

"Scold him later," Severus said, barely glancing at Lucius. "Then what?"

"Then Vernon came out and he got too close, and Draco disappeared." Harry shook his head. "But he didn't apparate. It didn't sound like it, and his clothes were still there, but--he's somewhere out there. He must be in his wyvern shape and he doesn't know where he is and--"

"Calm down," Lucius snapped. "Where is this place you took him?"

"Privet Drive in Surrey" Harry said. "I can take you--"

Severus put his hand on Lucius' shoulder, giving him a look that made him pause. Narcissa opened her mouth to demand they act, but she also recognized his look. When Severus was sure he had the attention of both his spouses, he stared at Harry.

"I really thought you had learned better," Severus said softly.

"I know I screwed up," Harry groaned. "Please, I'll do whatever you want later, but we have to find Draco now. He could be hurt or scared or--"

"Or completely safe and frightening everyone out of their wits," Severus said. He gazed pointedly at Harry's shirt. "Draco, get out here. Now."

Harry stared at him like he'd lost his mind, but after a moment, something shifted against his neck. As he reached up, tugging his collar wider, cool snakeskin slid over the back of his hand. He turned his hand over, cupping in his palms a tiny white wyvern as it hid its head in his fingers.

"Oh Draco..." Narcissa whispered, lightly touching the snake's back.

Draco made no response, not even to hiss. His wings were pressed so tightly to his back that Harry barely noticed their outline on the mother of pearl scales. Harry protectively put his hand over Draco, shielding him from view.

"For God's sake," Severus muttered at his son. "Was a muggle truly that frightening? You know a dozen ways to kill one off-hand--"

"He isn't used to muggles," Narcissa snapped at him. "He didn't grow up like you did. You said yourself they're different than us."

"I thought we'd taught him not to freeze in a fight," Severus said. "He stood up against the dark lord, so why couldn't he--"

Before they could wind up into a shouting match, Lucius spoke over them, and his voice cut through their argument.

"Harry," Lucius said. "Take Draco to bed. Make sure the elves leave him a saucer of milk. Then meet me outside by the pond. We need to talk."

Nodding vaguely, Harry turned and carried Draco back to their room, gently setting him on a pillow. Draco readjusted himself a his tight coil, but he didn't move when Harry crumpled the blanket between the pillows for him to nestle in. He did raise his head when Harry set a saucer of milk on the nightstand, but he immediately turned away again and lay still.

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. He lightly stroked Draco's back, and a shiver rippled through Draco's body.

"I shouldn't have done that to you," Harry said. "I'm so sorry."

A moment passed. When Harry realized Draco wouldn't change back any time soon, he put the blanket over him, covering him from the world. Then he quietly stood and walked down the long corridor that would soon be the hall of portraits, going through the french doors to reach the back yard.

As he walked, the hysterical excitement of facing Vernon and nearly losing Draco faded, dwindling into a cold knot in his stomach. The rest of him felt empty. Now that his head had cooled, he wished he could rewind the evening to before he had to think about Vernon and Dudley, before he exposed that ugliness to Draco.

He found Lucius by the pond, pacing with his arms folded. Harry took the chance to study the man. Without his usual long cape or robes, Lucius didn't look as imposing as usual. Dressed simply and with his hair tied back, Lucius looked less poised or calculating, and the light from the gibbous moon caught the ridges and contours of his face. He looked exhausted, the way Draco had when he'd cast too many dark spells for the teachers at Hogwarts.

A bench had been set by the pond, a sign that the garden was being landscaped along with the house, and Lucius sank into it as Harry approached, stretching out just enough to take up the whole seat so he wouldn't have to share.

"I believe," Lucius started, "that I threatened to set you on fire if you ever hurt him."

Harry's look flicked to Lucius' hands. That they were empty wasn't completely reassuring.

"I remember," Harry said evenly. He didn't try to argue if Draco was hurt or not. Arguing would have meant he didn't think Draco was hurt, and he didn't believe that. Nevermind that Draco had lied and demanded memories that Harry didn't want to remember.

Lucius paused a moment longer, then exhaled. His look turned into a glare.

"I know about the dragons," Lucius announced.

The sudden shift left Harry stumbling. "Dragons?"

"At Hogwarts," Lucius clarified in clipped tones. "How you let one almost eat my son."

The unfairness of the accusation made Harry glare, but he was given no time to reply.

"And I have learned of the poisoned apples," Lucius continued. "And of the hallucinarium in Slugworth's potions class. The mob of students in the dungeons. The Prophet's accusations."

As Lucius listed the attacks they had suffered, Harry started to worry. Lucius had never had the time to find old Prophet articles or question anyone about what had happened. He'd been too busy with keeping everyone alive and in one community ever since they returned. That meant Severus had finally given in to Lucius' questioning, probably to ease their own marital tensions.

But how much had Severus divulged?

"I know about your forced legilimancy," Lucius said.

Harry held his breath. His emotions about forcing his way into Draco's mind were mixed. He doubted that Draco would have willingly admitted to loving him, but the trauma done was still fresh, still raw. He couldn't feel sorry for it but he remembered how Draco had begged him to stop.

"For someone who claims to love Draco," Lucius drawled, "you certainly don't care much about his well being."

A burst of cold rage ran through Harry's body. Not care? Bloody hypocrite! How dare that bastard sit there when he'd had Draco in tears? When one scolding left Draco believing he was disowned? How dare he!

As much as he wanted to, Harry did not explode. Seeing Draco cringe every time he and Lucius argued had conditioned him not to scream. He slowly breathed out, his fists clenched tight at his sides, and did not let himself punch his husband's father. But he couldn't help remembering what Severus had said before, and the reply leaped to his lips despite himself.

"Draco loves the people who hurt him," Harry said lightly. "Like leaving him to fight Voldemort and fly through a snow storm."

Lucius stiffened, drawing in a breath like a hiss and looking exactly like the day Harry had freed Dobby. For a second, he looked like he might come at Harry with his bare hands, and Harry took a breath, tensing for the attack. Would Draco blame him if Lucius swung first?

Then Lucius relaxed and growled out his breath and tilted his head. The nod was slight, but Harry recognized it from long days spent in his company. Lucius was conceding the point.

"True enough," Lucius said softly. "The dark lord was supposed to have followed me."

Harry didn't answer. He couldn't. Lucius wasn't supposed to agree. He was supposed to snap and posture and blame everything on Harry. Not being attacked sapped some of Harry's indignation.

Sighing once, Harry squashed the urge to turn and go back inside. This conversation was uncomfortable, but it was like rain between them, ungodly cold but cleansing at the same time. Ever since their first argument, they'd gingerly stepped around each other, testing but never saying what they really thought. Now they faced each other with their fangs out, claws bared, with no witnesses, and neither of them had their wands. If this turned violent, at least they couldn't hex each other to death.

"The dark lord would follow the Knights, we would lose him in the forest, and Draco would have nothing more than a bad cut and a night's journey to meet with Severus." Lucius didn't look up from the grass. "I don't know how the dark lord learned of the grimoire."

"Voldemort was good at surprises," Harry offered.

His answer surprised himself. He shouldn't be offering consolation to the man who had tried to help release a basilisk in the school. He took comfort in seeing Lucius flinch at Voldemort's name and hoped Draco was right about his father fearing the dark lord.

"I wish ..." Lucius said. "I wish you'd left his body. The last time the dark lord vanished, he came back. We've all had nightmares of the dark mark flaring to life again."

This time Harry couldn't help but smile. It was easy to believe Voldemort was dead when he'd killed him. Watching him crumble into the earth hadn't been pleasant, but remembering it always brought him a little relief.

"No worries. He's dead," he assured him. "And even if he did come back, Harry Potter will always be here to save the day."

Slowly Lucius looked at him with wide eyes. Memories of his sarcastic snap rushed back, of glaring at a small boy as one of his plans fell apart, and he groaned inwardly. Oh God, how things change.

"Why did he have to fall in love with you?" Lucius muttered.

Harry wasn't listening. The memory of killing Voldemort reminded Harry of something else, and he half-smiled to himself.

"I mean," Harry added softly. "I'll save the day as long as Draco's there to cast some weird spell for me."

"If you treat him like this again," Lucius said louder, breaking into his thoughts. "He may not be there."

"What?" Harry blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You were right about one thing. He does love the people who hurt him." Lucius gave a humorless bark of laughter. "I can guess where you heard that from."

"What did you mean?" Harry demanded, ignoring the jibe. "You'd send him away?"

"I wouldn't have to," Lucius sighed as if Harry was obtuse, and at once his old arrogance returned as he took back the conversation. "Hurt him enough and he'll run away."

Draco ran when hurt, a lesson Lucius had just learned, Harry realized. A thought struck him. This was the reason Lucius had called him out here, the real reason. Lucius was warning him not to make the same mistake, but the man simply couldn't talk to him without insults and accusations.

God, this family, Harry groaned.

"I won't hurt him anymore," Harry said, more to himself than Lucius. "I won't."

"It's inevitable," Lucius laughed again. "You're married. God, the things we do to each other sometimes..."

Puzzled, Harry wondered what he meant by that until he realized Lucius meant himself, Severus and Narcissa. They did seem practiced at making up. Did they fight every day? Who knew how they tortured each other, little grudges and grievances made worse by being shared three ways--

He shook his head. Marriage didn't have to be like that, he was sure of it.

He thought he was sure of it.

"If it's inevitable," he asked, "what am I supposed to do?"

As if a reluctant death eater had all the answers, Harry thought. Worse, he hoped Lucius did have an answer, but the way Lucius hesitated didn't fill him with confidence.

"...don't be deliberate about it," Lucius said at last, sounding as if he was quoting someone. "Just don't be deliberate about hurting them."

Breathing deep, Lucius glanced at the half moon and grumbled.

"It's damned late," he said, rising to his feet. "Go calm him down. He shouldn't spend so much time as a snake. It isn't good for him."

"Could he get stuck?" Harry asked in alarm.

"No, but he could catch cold."

Without saying goodnight or anything else, Lucius walked back inside, leaving Harry alone in the garden. Harry sighed and looked at the sky. The grounds must have been charmed to block the town's light because he saw the stars covering him as brightly as in Hogwart's great hall.

He'd have to bring Draco out here one night. He knew a few constellations, and he was sure Draco knew many more. The thought of better nights to come cheered him enough to go back in.

The grass muffled his footsteps across the lawn. He locked the doors soundly, then walked softly through the manor as every little sound echoed through the halls. The lack of carpets, curtains and furniture made the house feel like a cave, vast with unseen corners and creaks he couldn't identify, and he felt a wave of relief as he locked his bedroom door behind himself.

Draco lay coiled up snugly on the blanket, and Harry took heart in seeing that the saucer of milk was empty. He gently stroked Draco's back with his fingertip, careful not to poke his wings, and the small snake's head lifted just enough to look at him. Even in this shape, Draco's eyes were gray and reflected Harry's frown.

"I've made a royal mess of everything," Harry said. "Haven't I?"

He expected the snake to nod. When Draco simply stared at him, he made himself continue. It wasn't a conversation he wanted to have, but he didn't think Draco would change on his own. He'd have to talk him back.

"I knew you'd be disgusted by them. I didn't want you to see them. If you knew where I came from, then you'd be disgusted with me. You hate muggles, and the Dursley's are the worst of what you hate about them."

Bone deep weary, Harry let out a deep sigh and slouched, hanging his head. Lucius had been right--the hour was late--but Harry didn't want to curl up with a snake. Cold scales aside, he was afraid he'd roll over and crush him.

"I should've just told you about them, huh?" Harry smiled sadly. "Loud, mean, petty...can you imagine living with them? Cleaning after them? Coming to Hogwarts was my escape, like an adventure story just for me. Everyone asks me how I could face Voldemort without being afraid. Truth is, fighting him was better than going home."

He paused to glance again at Draco. The snake had put his head down again and showed no sign of loosening his coils.

"Are you going to spend the whole night like that?" Harry asked. "Because I'll have to spend the night on the floor if you do. I don't want to wake up in the morning and find you smushed beneath me."

For a moment there was no reaction. And then the scales shifted into pale skin, the wings grew into arms, and the tail split into legs. The change took only a few seconds, leaving Draco scooting backward into the bed's headboard, shivering in the cool air. He grabbed the cover and dragged it over his lap, holding it up around his shoulders.

"Don't go," Draco breathed, barely a whisper, his grey eyes as round as when he'd been a wyvern. "I need you here, I need--oh...oh God, outside the windows."

Harry followed his look, snatching his wand at the same time, but there was nothing in the window. No lurking death eaters or muggles, just pitch black glass and their own reflections.

Draco leaned over the nightstand and extinguished the lumos charm, leaving the room dark. Slowly his eyes adjusted so he could see the distant iron fence and the silhouettes of trees beyond the estate. He sat back down as quietly as he could, straining to hear the smallest noise.

"Better," he whispered. "Just in case, nothing can see in now."

What a picture Draco knew he made, curled against the headboard and holding the blanket as a shield. Three large windows gave the room an airy feel during the day, but now he felt exposed and spied upon.

He shuddered in his heart, imagining that fat muggle's face appearing at every window. Muggles may look like wizards, but without the spark of magic, they were soulless, lower than animals. His dream deaths had taught him how to escape muggles, but he'd never faced one for real. The muggle had loomed over him as if he'd tear the wizards apart with his bare hands.

"Draco," Harry said slowly, touching his knee as if he expected him to transform again. "Nothing's watching us. Nothing can get past the wards, remember?"

"S'happened before," Draco muttered. "The dark lord, a ghoul, Severus..."

Although Harry was curious to hear about those, he didn't ask. Instead he crept closer, calmly approaching the way he would a frightened animal, until he could hold Draco and cup his face. In the faint silver light, Draco's hair gleamed and guided Harry's hand perfectly to that pointed chin.

"You're working yourself up," Harry said. "You're safe. No one can get in. And even if they did, I'm here."

When Draco didn't move, Harry tried a different approach.

"The man who scorched a mob of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs shouldn't be this frightened of one muggle," Harry said, "especially when he's probably still stunned in the garden."

"Stunned?" Draco glanced at him through the strands of his mussed hair.

"Knocked him flat into the flower bed," Harry smiled. "Got him pretty hard. I don't think he'll be up any time soon."

Some of the tightness left Draco, and he uncurled enough to let Harry sit beside him. The movement gave him a clear view of the windows, however, and he saw the grass swaying in the breeze, saw the stars and a thin spot of white darting past the fence. A fox, no doubt, but he turned away from the sight, feeling utterly exposed.

"I wish I had my old bed," he whispered. "No one could see into it."

"You mean like the ones at school?" Harry asked.

At Draco's nod, Harry cast a faint lumos spell and studied the closest corner of the bed. There was a knob with ornate scrollwork on the side, but he lost sight of it as Draco reached up and put his hands over the tip of Harry's wand.

"Please, no lights, Harry," Draco whispered.

"Trust me," Harry said, and he slipped the wand out of Draco's fingers. "Just for a moment. You said you'd be getting another bed soon, so it's okay if I stretch this one out of shape, right?"

"What?"

Pulling the blanket closer, Draco watched Harry slide off the bed and stand by the corner. Harry pressed his wand to the knob, tapped it and then transfigured the wood up into a post almost four feet high. The post twisted and grew narrow at the top, but it looked stable enough. Harry tugged at it to be sure. One by one, Harry transfigured the rest of the knobs until it looked like an amateur carpenter's first attempt at a four post bed.

Now that he knew what Harry was doing, Draco slid a sheet out from under himself and pulled it free, handing it over. Hung on the top of the posts, the sheet was stretched further and further until it wrapped around the entire bed like one big curtain.

"Better?" Harry asked as he crept back in. "You sure look better."

Draco smiled half-heartedly, but the smile faded fast and he quietly settled in Harry's arms as he had during all those nights on the ground. The bed was crooked and the sheet looked threadbare and ragged at the edges, but he felt safe whispering in the dark like this. As Harry brought the blanket over both of them, Draco felt hidden, like a snake in a burrow.

"You lived with those monsters?" he murmured.

At first Harry wanted to say they weren't monsters, but the words didn't come. He held silent for several seconds, stroking Draco's hair.

"Yes," he finally answered.

"All your life?"

"Except when I was at Hogwarts. And I stayed awhile at Ron's."

The usual Weasley insult sprang to mind, but Draco didn't say it. He strained to remember anything his family had said about Harry's life, but precious little came to mind. How many people knew about Harry's family? He understood now why his husband made such a secret of it.

"Why? You could have lived anywhere."

Harry took a breath to steady himself, but he found he didn't need it. With the truth of his family out in the open, it was easier to explain. "I had to live there. My mother died protecting me, and I had to live with blood relatives so Voldemort couldn't hurt me."

Draco thought that over, grimacing as he pictured living with the Durlseys like a house elf, living in that tiny space without light, like a coffin.

"No muggle family fawning over the famous wizard?" he asked. The answer was obvious, but he needed to hear it from Harry.

"No one fawned over me," Harry said. "I didn't think anyone knew I existed until the letters started coming."

"Letters?"

"Invitations to Hogwarts. Vernon tried to keep them from me until they were piling up around us, and even then Hagrid had to come and get me." Harry smiled at the memory. "We flew on his motorbike. He even took me to Hogsmeade afterward."

To buy his wand and his first robes, Draco thought, and remembered the first time he'd seen Harry. Bright green eyes, messy hair, and the first student he'd met who hadn't been approved and introduced by his parents. A young Malfoy needed connections, especially after the horror stories he'd heard of the Weasley twins, and he'd been so sure that this stranger would be sorted into Slytherin. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was just the color of his eyes.

"I wish you'd been my friend when I offered," Draco said softly.

"Mm." Harry rested his head on Draco's, blowing a stray hair tickling his cheek. "So do I."


	9. Wherein Dumbledore comes for a visit

Draco woke in an empty bed with the curtains drawn back, allowing in sun and a warm breeze from the open window. He pushed up on his elbows, blinking in the light, and looked around for Harry. When he didn't see him, he found his robes from the night before and tossed them on, put on his shoes, and went outside.

Considering how high the sun was, he figured he'd slept to noon. No one was in the garden, much to his relief. He didn't want to meet anyone else. His family were all probably at work, either at the Ministry or in the greenhouse still being built, so he could avoid everyone if he sat at the lawn table and sulked.

He had to squeeze around into the chair. Made of ornately twisted iron, it had sunk an inch into the damp earth and refused to budge. He adjusted himself on the hard seat, then folded his arms and pillowed his head on the table.

Why was it that every time he felt like he had a handle on the world, the world completely upended itself?

Lunch was brought silently on a silver tray carried by Filly, who set it before him and disappeared again. A small roasted duck and a blood soup--something filling and restorative after last night. He ate quietly, and while it didn't make him feel any better, he felt a little more settled. Every rustle of leaves was no longer a muggle whispering around him. The trickle of light through the branches was not muggles looming over him. Despite his anxiety, he kept lunch in his stomach and counted that as a success.

He waited there another hour, watching the shadows slowly stretch across the garden. Only when he saw the regular owls bearing more envelopes than usual did he force himself to stand and walk through the french doors, through the empty hall of portraits. He noted the lack of a spiked brazier and wondered if his parents still intended to put a self-destruct trigger jinx in this manor, too.

The last owl flew not up to the owlry but down the hall. Curious, Draco followed it, giving a polite nod to Jeanne, the first Malfoy ancestor to return to her portrait. Voices came from the small room, and he spotted his father through the open doorway. At his footfall, Lucius glanced over his shoulder at him.

"Ah, Draco," Lucius said. "Good timing. I was about to send for you."

Tempted to ask "now what?", Draco instead held his tongue and came into the parlour. Immediately he was glad he hadn't been flippant. Luna and Hermione sat side by side across from his father and Harry. All of them were dressed well enough for a formal meeting. Good thing his clothes had anti-rumpling charms on them. He sat down at the last chair and told himself that things couldn't be that bad if the minister or Dumbledore hadn't shown up.

As he took the letter his father held to him, Draco noticed how bare the parlour was. Despite Lucius feeling that they could receive guests here, aside from the lumos fixture and curtains, the room held only the chairs and table. The walls were smooth and unpapered. The floor held no rug. He resolved that when the tensions had eased a little, he and Harry would go shopping, no matter how much Harry complained.

"Hermione and I brought all of the questions mailed to us," Luna said helpfully. "Most of them were normal things you'd expect anyone to ask, but then we noticed a few that sort of went beyond the pale."

"Granger's turned into a reporter?" Draco murmured as he skimmed Dumbledore's letter.

In the elegant script of the headmaster's formal handwriting, a few words stood out--a polite request of their company, loose ends he wished to tie up, and a matter of importance concerning the school. Draco set it aside to be forgotten. All of Dumbledore's letters were the same, but it didn't matter what he wrote. He wasn't to be invited to the manor again. Too devious to be trusted even for their common good.

"I was helping compile the list," Hermione said. "There were hundreds of letters to go through."

Dismayed by the pile on the table, Draco gently tugged a few letters free and looked them over. Some of the questions were simple and expected, those with easy answers and no controversy.

Could dark wizards speak the old languages fluently? No, they had a broad vocabulary and a few could string songs together, but old French, Nordic, German, even the old English were purely spell speak now.

Did dark wizards worship the devil? Draco snorted. What part of "Morgana was raised in a convent and learned her craft from the servants of the one true God" had they missed during the last lecture?

Would the dark community be willing to expose those in their ranks who had committed murder and rape during night rides? His jaw clenched. Only if the Ministry would make reparations for stolen property and men, women and children hanged, crushed, burned and broken upon the wheel by their useful muggle idiots--first the Romans, then the Normans--

The sound of paper tearing forced him to relax before he accidentally ripped the letter in half.  He tossed it back on the pile in disgust, and his annoyance deepened when Hermione took it. Rotten little busybody always looked into everyone else's business.

"Ah, that's what upset you," she said. "There were a few others like this that we didn't bring. They, um, weren't so polite about the way they asked."

Draco couldn't bring himself to respond. As if they'd let themselves be condemned for surviving during a war. His anger cleared the sleep from his head but he felt no better.

"How many howlers are we getting?" Harry asked, replying for him.

"Some," Luna admitted. "Not as many as I thought we would, but the ones we do get are awful."

"One of them almost poisoned us when we opened it," Hermione said. "Remus is looking for who sent that."

"It's to be expected," Lucius said. "It's a pleasant surprise that there isn't a mob on the lawn."

Hermione's smile was scrupulously polite. "I think that's more to do with your reputation."

"They're not scary," Harry scoffed. His look clearly meant that the Malfoys were annoying and cranky at times, but he didn't say so out loud.

"The muggle borns aren't as bad," Luna said, ignoring Harry's remark. "They weren't brought up the way purebloods were. It's the purebloods who want revenge."

"Not all of them," Hermione said quickly. "The ones too young to remember nightrides, the only fighting they've seen was always started by Death Eaters, and they can separate them from Knights of Walpurgis in their heads."

"It's the older ones," Luna said. "They're the danger. I think some of them would rather see the fighting go on and some won't be happy unless..."

Her voice trailed off. She didn't have to complete the thought. They all knew it. Some in Britain wouldn't be happy until every dark wizard was dead.

"They have some reason for their hate," Lucius offered. "Night rides were one of our best weapons, and we could perform them masked."

Hermione tilted her head. "What difference does a mask make?"

"The mask brings with it a kind of change," Lucius said, and his voice grew softer in memory. "A feeling of power against an overwhelming enemy. Since we were trying to blend into their society, it let our soldiers fight without fearing an attack on our family. And it gave us a bit of...separation. Distance from what we were doing."

Out of the silence, Hermione hesitated before asking. "What happens on a night ride?"

"Depends on the era," Lucius said. "Those of the last few decades were straightforward assassinations. Sometimes they were for finding information."

"And before?" she asked. "Is it true what they said?"

He half-smiled. "The light wizards set our children on fire, if they didn't condemn them to Azkaban. We had the element of surprise at night. What do you imagine we would do?"

Her mind conjured up dozens of images of her own imagining. She opened her mouth to speak, found she couldn't and looked at the letter in her hand. Reparations? How could they even begin to calculate what each side owed each other? How could they give a price to each dead family member? And even if they did, even if somehow they came to a price and exchanged monies, there would be those that demanded more, than the exchange was not truly just, and that it was only right to demand more, more, more.

"This is...insane," she breathed. The word seemed too small for what she was seeing.

"It runs deep," Lucius said. "You're too young to know how deep. But do you understand what a miracle this is? Draco would not have risked it if he hadn't had sanctuary and Dumbledore's protection."

Draco didn't speak. He didn't like to think about that time in the castle. This animosity couldn't be as bad as the uncertainty, not knowing if his mother and father were alive, not knowing if the Ministry would try to take him, not knowing if he was all alone and if all his friends had died in the forest. He knew he couldn't have revealed himself if he hadn't had so little to lose.

Luna held out a scroll with a list. Draco gently took it, loath to read it, and found the highlighted questions quickly.

"'Are dark wizards crossbreeds?'" he laughed without humor. "'Do these crossbreeds have access to magical power?' Bastard isn't giving up, is he?"

"A tad obvious who asked, isn't it?" Luna nodded. "Even though Fudge is well off the guest list, I'm sure he's working on getting an invitation to the next talk you give. Have you chosen the place yet?"

Draco shook his head. "Things have been a little strained after that last talk. I haven't paid it much mind yet."

"Have you thought about Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, piping up a little too conveniently. She continued over Draco's incredulous look. "I know it needs repairs-"

"'Repairs'?" Draco echoed, surprised she could even suggest it. "It's wrecked. There are huge holes in it--I know, I went through them--it's flooded, the bloody tower is off..."

"It's a symbol of the war we just fought," she interrupted. "Both of us, side by side. It would be a good reminder to everyone that you were vital to killing Voldemort."

Or remind everyone that dark wizards were rumored to have transformed into taboo miscegenations of magical creatures, and then later fled aurors. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. At night, dark wizards had their wild rides, and during the day, the aurors had their raids.

"Kind of like a promise," Luna said. "That both sides can help rebuild. Especially if you don't divide us up into light and dark, but just say we're all students."

A nice sentiment. He thought it might work, too, if the crowd he faced wasn't all that hostile. The conversation dwindled quickly when Draco didn't respond except to say he would keep it in mind.

He managed to scrape himself together enough to see them out, but he was in no mood to talk to anyone. He left Harry talking to Hermione and Luna on the front step and retreated back to the parlor. A warm sunbeam lay across the sofa, and he curled up like a cat, closing his eyes.

The sofa dipped as someone sat next to him. He didn't look to see. By the weight, he could tell it was Harry. His husband touched his hair, then leaned over him, cheek to cheek.

"Mmf," Draco mumbled, shifting under him. "Ger'off. You're heavy. And you're in my sun."

Harry chuckled and didn't move.

"Love you, too," he said. "Maybe you should go back to sleep. You had a rough night."

Draco squeezed his eyes tighter and shook his head once.

"Just tired." He nestled his head in the crook of his arm, shading his eyes from the sun. "I don't want to try another lecture. I don't want to do anything."

Harry didn't answer except to nod once and adjust his weight so he wasn't completely on Draco. When they were both comfortable, Harry reached up and undid the top handful of buttons on Draco's tight robes.

Draco tensed, then forced himself to relax. "Harry..."

"Just loosening the collar," Harry said. "That's all. Like I'd try something on the couch when someone might pop in."

Draco grumbled, but Harry only loosened his clothing to make him comfortable, then lay still behind him. Nestled together, Draco felt surprisingly comfortable despite how heavy Harry was. He yawned and fidgeted only a little, listening to the birds singing outside.

"Harry."

"Mm?"

I'm sorry, Draco wanted to say. He felt he should. He shouldn't have pressed and he shouldn't have lied, and then he shouldn't have overreacted and stayed hidden. He shouldn't have made everyone panic. But at the same time, he wanted to snap at Harry and tell him not to hide things or suddenly force things on Draco, or to scare him out of his bloody mind when he knew damn well Draco was terrified of muggles. It wasn't like Draco could've known how badly Harry was neglected and abused--

He cut off that train of thought as he felt himself growing angrier. That wasn't what he wanted. And he decided he wouldn't apologize when Harry was just as much at fault, if not moreso. After all, he told himself, if Harry would just do everything Draco's way, things would run perfectly smooth. A shame that marrying into the Malfoys didn't make him any less Gryffindor.

"Draco?"

Well, if he wasn't going to apologize...Draco half-smiled.

"I love you," he said. There. That summed it all up perfectly. Satisfied with himself, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep, just barely catching Harry's drowsy laugh and reply.

When he opened his eyes again, dragged from sleep so that his head felt like a lead weight, the sun had shifted considerably across the sky and the fire was crackling in the hearth, warming the room against the chill. How long had they slept? He glared at Filly as she mumbled. The feral thing was learning how to be a proper elf again, but her fangs still hadn't shrunk enough to make speaking easy.

"-sorry to has to wakes you, Masters, but Master Severus is sending for yous. Right away, right away, the Headmaster is here in the garden."

"Headmaster?"

Yawning, Draco sat up and blinked heavily. The nap had only made him more tired. Behind him, Harry stretched and hopped off the couch, smiling as he wiped the wrinkles out of his robe. Draco glared at him and rolled his eyes when Harry held his hand to him, taking it with a huff as Harry helped him to his feet.

"You're entirely too cheerful for just waking up," he said, yawning again.

"It was a good sleep," Harry said. He did up the buttons on Draco's robe so that he didn't look like he'd just rolled out of bed. "And if Dumbledore wants us, then it's bound to be something exciting."

"Exactly what I don't want to hear," Draco said. "Why is he even here anyway? My parents don't want him in the house."

"Let's go find out," Harry said, opening the door.

Draco smiled indulgently, but Harry standing at the closed door bothered him. It took a moment for him to realize that when they'd gone to sleep, the door had been open. That meant someone had closed it for them, probably to give them some undisturbed shut-eye. But if his parents had done that, they wouldn't have tried to rouse him to meet Dumbledore, not when he wasn't supposed to be there at all. As they walked through the empty halls, their footsteps loud without any carpets yet on the floor, he listened for voices and heard only Dumbledore's and...Severus.

He almost stopped. His parents weren't home and Severus had allowed in Dumbledore, when he had been forbidden from meeting him at all. Not that Severus was a slave, but Lucius ruled the house. To disobey the patriarch was... He hissed in a breath, not at all happy with that thought.

First I act like a complete fool, he thought to himself. And now Sev is working himself into a mess, just trying to get disowned.

Then again...his master had been a great double--no, triple spy--for the dark lord, the Order of the Phoenix and the dark wizards. He would give Severus the benefit of the doubt until proved wrong. He hoped his parents wouldn't be home any time soon. He didn't think they would be as forgiving or understanding.

He frowned. Then again, his parents would probably not give Sev' up, let alone send him out of the house. Not for acting foolish. If they sent away family for being foolish, then none of them would be left. No, if they discovered that the headmaster had been in the house, they would probably lock Sev down in one of the cells in the dungeon where he worked.

He grimaced as that train of thought led to a traumatic image flashing in his head, and he shook himself to get rid of it.

"Are you okay?" Harry whispered as they came to the french doors, opening one side. "You've gone red."

"Just some things a child shouldn't have to imagine about their parents," Draco whispered back.

Severus and Dumbledore sat at the garden table as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Tea had been served. Harry went forward quickly with a smile, clearly not thinking that anything was amiss, and as Draco steeled himself to face the old wizard, a second pair of teacups appeared. He eyed them with distrust. The elves usually brought them by hand. Did Dumbledore's presence intimidate the elves from appearing? Doubtful. They were too mindful of painful kicks for any disobedience. So this tea was a conjuration from Dumbledore. Who knew what the headmaster might have laced it with?

He sat down with the same smile Lucius kept for the Ministry. Trickery, everything must be polite trickery, he told himself, and he took the teacup in his hands, allowing his right hand to tremble just a little so that it seemed he wanted the hot tea to warm the old injury.

"Mr. Malfoy, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile to match Harry's. "It's good to see you again. It's been too long since my last visit."

"Since the attack at the theater," Draco nodded.

"Quite so," Dumbledore nodded. "It was most trusting of your family to invite Scrimgeour and I to the manor, especially when we were all so suspicious of each other."

"I notice he isn't here with you," Draco said. "I hope he's well."

"Quite well," Dumbledore said. "In fact, he arranged for this visit, although I was hoping find your parents as well."

Severus stiffened. If Dumbledore noticed, he pretended not to, but long nights in the workshop beside a temperamental potions master had left Draco as sensitive to his master's moods as a house elf. This meeting was certainly not arranged, nor did Dumbledore have any intention of telling his parents. How was Severus planning on asking Draco not to tell, or had Dumbledore not mentioned this verbal sleight of hand to him in the first place?

"I believe they went to the continent to find new furnishings," Draco said. "I'm sure they'll be home soon."

No wonder his parents wanted Dumbledore kept at a distance. He was too dangerous, and all the moreso because he had Severus in hand. Still...the headmaster kept angling for a proper invitation. Lucius had proved too elusive for the Ministry while Harry--

Harry was being remarkably quiet. Draco realized that by now Harry should have offered up a visit anytime Dumbledore wanted, and that Harry would be sure to welcome him. This should have all gone to hell in a handbasket by now. He glanced at him and was surprised to see his own polite smile mirrored back at him.

Draco tried not to show his discomfit. Since when did Harry have any subtle guile? How did Harry know not to trust Dumbledore when he'd trusted him for so long? Draco was so sure he hadn't given anything away in his expression, and Severus kept his own face carefully schooled.

Whatever. Draco would be grateful for it now and worry about it later.

"Unfortunately," Dumbledore said, "the matter I come upon is of some urgency. If you remember, could you tell me what was the condition of the Slytherin dungeons after they had flooded?"

The dungeons? Draco blinked at the shift. What did the dungeons have to do with anything? Hogwarts mentioned again in such a short span of time. Did Dumbledore know that Luna and Hermione had just been to the manor on that subject?

"The dungeon's completely submerged in some parts," Draco said. "All the doors I could see were destroyed. If the water hadn't devoured the magic on the locks, then the sheer force of the first wave had torn them off their hinges."

"Was anything alive from the lake?" Dumbledore asked. "I know you were attacked by the kraken, and that the poor thing had to be destroyed."

So he had been talking with Hermione. Besides him and Harry, of their companions that evening only she was still in England.

"Yes, it had been covered in the same runes as the dragons that almost ate us," Draco said. "Controlled by the dark lord, no doubt."

"Most likely, yes," Dumbledore said. "There was nothing else threatening in the water?"

"Just bodies," Draco said. "Grindylows and fish and such."

"At least there is that, then," Dumbledore said. "The underwater passages will probably be lengthy, but nothing that cannot be overcome."

"You're going under there?" Harry asked. "You can't. The walls were leaking when we were under there. If it hasn't fallen down yet, it will soon."

"It hasn't fallen, thank goodness," Dumbledore said. "But that is all the more reason I must go. If Hogwarts collapses, there will be little hope of ever rebuilding it, at least where it currently stands."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, leaning forward.

Squashing his irritation, Draco glanced at Severus and noticed the same annoyance. Harry was caught up in the lure of adventure and saving the world again. And here Draco was hoping that the adventures would stop for awhile.

"Professor Snape and I were examining the spells involved in the flood," Dumbledore said, indicating the scrolls in front of them. "It seems that the flood, the window that exploded, and the chandelier at the Bredgett Opera all have the same base spell in common."

Draco looked at the photographs Dumbledore motioned towards. Each of them showed pieces of stones or glass that had been reassembled, all of them inscribed with a rune. He recognized the runes as meaning fire and serpent, and the shards from the chandelier held the rune for chalice. That of the Hogwarts window held both chalice and stone.

"The other traps we found in Hogwarts were similar," Dumbledore said. "But at the time we did not know how they are used in dark magic."

Dumbledore left the question hanging in the air. Draco was faced with a dilemma--explain how they used the runes or refuse and seem like a villainous dark wizard. He agonized and made his decision in a split second.

"Short hand and camouflage," Draco admitted.

"Short hand?" Dumbledore echoed.

"It's faster to carve two runes than two words in English. Less chance of getting caught. And many meanings can be created out of just a couple of runes." He looked not at Dumbledore but Severus. "These spells are already used up, though. There's one still in the school?"

"Under it, most likely," Severus said. "Not an explosion or fire spell, but something more subtle. You recall that the lake ate the magic in the dungeons?"

Draco nodded once. Hard to forget the feeling of watching water chewing through the stones that stood between him and a flood.

"The magic didn't simply disappear," Severus said. "It went somewhere. Likely some artifact within the water that collected it."

"If the death eaters put that artifact there," Draco said, "then it's probably long gone."

"I have reason to believe it is still there," Dumbledore said. "An artifact which now contains the vast magic of Hogwarts. If that were to fall into the wrong hands, the result would be disastrous."

"And you didn't look for it before?" Draco asked.

"We didn't know of its existence," Dumbledore said. "Now that we do, the question is how to find it. Perhaps you were the Malfoy I needed to meet. With your previous experience beneath the dungeons--"

"Headmaster," Severus cut in. "I really don't think we should--"

"I'm sure the boys wouldn't be at risk if they tried," Dumbledore said. "Young Mr. Malfoy knows the dungeons and Harry can handle anything he faces."

How quickly the conversation turned. Did Dumbledore care about Severus' circumstances at all, or had he just been the means of getting inside to proposition them?

"I'm sure you're quite right," Draco said, setting the tea down as if he'd actually sipped from it. "However, I cannot do anything without my father's permission, now that he's actually here."

There was no shift in Dumbledore's face. Was he sincere in wanting to involve Lucius? No, impossible. What other schemes could he have? Draco started to think that coming out here had been a mistake.

"I understand," Dumbledore said. "I keep forgetting that you don't have the same latitude as you did before."

Oh, you subtle manipulator, Draco thought. Trying to spur me into searching by twisting my ego. Just as bad as a Slytherin.

He was so tempted to say that of course he'd had permission to act before. Severus had, as his master and his only parent still clearly alive, approved his actions. But Dumbledore, even if he suspected, did not know Severus' relationship with Lucius and Narcissa, and Draco did not care to tell him. Let him think that Severus was their hired potions master, or at worst an adulterer with whichever one he cared to choose.

"Small price to pay for having my parents alive," Draco said with a smile.

"Quite."

"Now if you'll please forgive us," Draco said, standing as he spoke. "But I'm afraid I'm still under the weather and could do with more sleep. Harry, please?"

"Nothing serious, I hope," Dumbledore said.

"Last night was a bit stormy," Draco offered, and nothing more.

Taking Harry's offered hand, Draco's theatrical leaning on his husband's arm was not entirely an exaggeration. His shoulders were stiff from sleeping awkwardly and his sleep hadn't been restful. When they were inside, however, Draco nudged Harry not towards the parlor or their bedroom, but to the workshop.

"Isn't that still your parents' bedroom?" Harry asked. "Are you sure you can go in?"

"They're not home," Draco reasoned. "It'll be all right."

As they passed the main hall, Harry looked around at the numerous portraits. New frames had been placed along the wall and more than half of the family had returned, and they murmured to each other as Harry and Draco passed by. Harry didn't like moving under their gaze and often used the garden route to the other side of the house. The portraits hadn't insulted him or shrieked or done anything similar to the portraits in Grimauld Place, but their whispers and watchful eyes unnerved him. He resolutely ignored their muttering--there was enough conspiracy in this house without thinking about the ancestors.

"You're planning something," Harry asked.

"Damn straight," Draco said with a nod. "So is Sev'."

"He is?" Harry asked.

"Mm, and I don't think he'll say what." Draco shrugged. "He trusts Dumbledore, so he believes there's something down in Hogwarts. But he didn't want to tell us. That means he didn't want father to know. That means he's going down there himself."

"By himself?" Harry echoed, shaking his head in disbelief. "No, I'll believe that he knows something, but he wouldn't do something that dangerous. Not like that."

"'Like what'?" Draco asked.

"Going under Hogwarts when the whole school could come down," Harry said. "It's reckless."

"You want to go," Draco said. "I can see it on your face. You're practically apparating there already."

"Well, yeah," Harry grinned. "But you'd kill me if I went. That's how I know it's reckless."

"You're right," Draco said. "Which makes it funny that we're going anyway."

"What?" Harry stopped in his tracks. "But...you just said..."

"I know, I know," Draco said. "It's reckless, it's stupid, and there's no other choice. If that thing really does exist, I don't want Aunt Bella getting it. Or Fudge, come to think of it."

"How would he get it?" Harry asked. "I don't think he'd go into the dungeons."

"I don't know," Draco said. "If it's true, it's an awful lot of power. One little jinx for the whole world."

Harry half-smiled, holding Draco's hand to his lips and gently kissing his knuckles. Draco felt a strange warm rush creep up on him. He reflexively tried to pull his hand back, but Harry held firm and pulled him close, one arm around his waist.

"Harry, what-?"

"I get chills when I hear that," Harry said.

"'Chills'?"

"I remember you saying that, and then when we were fighting Voldemort and he offered you the world if you'd just turn on me." Harry's smile broadened. "Not many people get to find out they're worth the world to someone."

Draco grumbled at being reminded. His line about being Harry's viper had felt natural at the time, with the dark lord's army closing in and Voldemort's magic exploding against Harry's. One little jinx for the whole world...and Draco had refused.

"If I had known everyone would tease me about it," Draco said, "I might have chosen differently."

"Of course," Harry said, kissing his hair.

"I mean it."

"I believe you."

As they came to the workshop, they quieted so that they might hear anything inside. It was never wise to barge into a workshop, even their own, but the lack of boiling or bubbling noises reassured them that nothing was about to explode.

Only one bed lay within, a bundle of blankets on a mattress stuck in the far corner. Most likely for Severus, Draco reasoned. His parents had probably moved their bedding into the new room or left it with the elves to clean.

Even if there had been time to restock the workshop properly, three people living inside the dungeon had not left much room for any jars and bottles crowding together. The only ingredients inside were a pitiful pile--pitiful only because Draco knew how much more expansive the workshop should be. The toadstools, plants and parts they did have would demand high prices in a collector's market. Most people would be happy with what they'd gathered so far.

"What are we doing here?" Harry whispered.

"You're standing at the door to make sure Sev' isn't coming," Draco said, kneeling beside the jars. "I'm looking for the todesstuhl."

"They'll be mad if you take it," Harry breathed by his ear.

"Don't whisper," Draco said. "It makes me nervous."

"Why?" Harry grinned. "'Cause we're stealing your parents' things?"

"I'm not stealing anything," Draco huffed. "These belong to the whole family."

"Uh-huh," Harry said, clearly unconvinced.

Draco ignored him and pulled out the jar with the todesstuhl, carefully preserved in a makeshift terrarium with a layer of damp soil and drops of water condensed on the glass. He opened the jar and tore off a tiny piece hardly bigger than his fingernail from the edge, then carefully sealed the lid again.

As he put the jar back, setting it exactly where it had been before and going so far as to twist the blanket around it the same way, he spotted something else amidst the nondescript bottles. He smiled in wonder and took the small bottle, holding it to the light.

"Besides," he said, running his fingertip along the label with his mother's swirling handwriting, 99% Tincture. "This little gem's mine. I'd wondered where it got to. Thought it was lost in the flood."

"Couldn't be all that useful," Harry said. "You never used it."

"It's very particular," Draco said, tucking the bottle in his robe. "You can't just use it on anything. It has to be saved for a special occasion."

"Right," Harry said in a tone that meant all potions masters were odd. He knew that Draco loved working with strange ingredients, but Harry didn't think he'd ever see the appeal. "Now what? Are we going right now?"

Draco hesitated. Run off with Harry on a fool's errand, braving a collapse or drowning or Death Eaters to secure a stone that may or may not be there? Why bother when Severus clearly intended to do it?

"It's funny," Draco said softly. "I used to think my parents knew everything."

Harry waited until he saw that Draco wasn't going to say anything else. "'Used to'?"

"They're making it up as they go along," Draco said. "And father was right. By all rights, they should've been dead years ago. It's only recently that dark families are living this long. We should be the ones facing this."

"You want that?" Harry asked. "Because as much as your father and I don't get along, I don't want him gone. For better or worse, I'm on your side now, and I have no clue how to do this if he isn't here."

"I don't want to be the head of the family," Draco murmured, shaking his head. "I don't want to go on any more adventures. But..."

He hefted the bottle of tincture, examining it for a moment. A few drops had been used, but it was more than half full. He dropped the bit of todestuhl into the tincture and recorked it. Immediately the liquid turned faintly pink.

"But if I don't go, Sev' will," Draco said firmly. "And if he goes, he'll be alone."

"Maybe he'd take your parents," Harry said, wincing as Draco flinched at the thought.

"My father's a politician," Draco said, "and mother's a potions master. If they tried..."

His voice trailed off. He'd seen a hallucination of their dead bodies once before, after exposure to hallucinarium. The memory had sunk deep and he didn't like to dredge it up.

"Then we'll go," Harry said, putting his hand on Draco's shoulder. "We'll be back before dinner."

Draco nodded once, putting away the tincture. "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"What does it feel like when you go on one of your reckless adventures?"

Harry grinned. "Butterflies in my stomach. Why, feeling them?"

"Just curious."

Draco walked after him, one hand on his stomach. Harry called the feeling butterflies, but they felt more like scorpions.

He glanced out a window as they made their way outside. Severus and Dumbledore were still at the table, although Severus kept throwing quick glances at the house. Draco's mouth twisted. Severus had to suspect they were leaving. They wouldn't have long to do this.

They used the side door to stay out of view and apparated as soon as they reached the edge of the estate. Draco clenched Harry tight when they popped into existence. Harry had put them in the middle of the Great Hall, which howled with wind flowing through the smashed holes in the walls. Draco half expected the castle to suddenly crash down on them, and Harry gave him a nudge when he didn't move.

"It's okay," Harry said. "It just feels wobbly, that's all."

Slowly letting go, Draco looked at him once, waiting for his reassuring nod before completely stepping back and looking around. The castle felt completely open to the elements, as if it was a cavern instead of a school. The broken tables and burned tapestries hadn't been cleaned up, making it all too easy to imagine the battle was only moments over.

Most oppressive was the silence. Draco heard every scuff of his shoes, every brush of wind against stone. The floors above them creaked, and he was aware of all the weight held above his head by these broken walls. Something scurried by into a pile of leaves blown against the wall, then slipped between the stones in a flash of white and disappeared.

"Just a mouse," Harry said.

"Hopefully that's the worst of what we'll see," Draco said, turning and heading to the stone arch. The doors that used to stand there lay in splinters around them.

"How are we going down?" Harry asked. "Through the kitchen?"

"It's the closest," Draco nodded. "Unless you want to jump through the hole in the front, but that would drench our wands."

Hogwarts felt enormous without anyone in it. Draco listened for the smallest sound and heard only birdsong and the skittering of mice. They passed several birds perched in odd spots, on top of large portraits and on stone sills. The classroom doors lay open, swaying gently with the passing wind, and he saw ivy and grass taking fragile root. Water stains lay on the floor everywhere, dripping in from the leaking ceiling and blown in through the windows.

All of the portraits were damp and covered in mildew and grime. Only a handful of them still held painted figures who blinked sleepily as they passed--then snapped to attention and stared intently. Harry tried to speak to one but they said nothing, and their eyes were blank as they watched them go by.

When they reached the painting of the pear, it refused to open at his touch. He tried twice, then gave up and went to pry it. The frame swung open without any resistance, flinging itself wide and slamming against the wall before clattering to the floor. Similarly all of the kitchen cabinets lay open, their doors hanging on their hinges with rust creeping over everything metal.

"Where are the elves?" Harry whispered.

"Probably trying to keep the castle from falling over," Draco said. "Higher up."

In the back of the kitchen, the trapdoor was still open. They both knelt by the ladder, peering into the darkness and listening carefully. All they heard was the quiet flow of water and the echo of something dripping in the distance. They looked at each other to see who would go first, and when Harry put his hand on the top rung to take the lead, he paused in thought and looked at Draco.

"How're we gonna tell where it is?"

Draco smiled. "That's the easy part."

Half expecting something to grab his ankle, Harry climbed down the ladder and landed in water up to his knees. He cast lumos and held the wand up so Draco could see him.

Draco came down and jumped the last two rungs, making a splash, and he grimaced at how his feet got damp though he knew he should be happy that the waters had receded. He grimaced at how cold it was and wondered why the water wasn't up to the top as it had been when it first flooded. He was happy to see it so low. Any higher and he was sure they'd get sick, natural wizarding protection or not. Musty and dank, the tunnel reeked of mold and decomposed bodies that continued to rot in the still water.

"Why hasn't anyone tried to clean this place up?" he wondered.

"Probably afraid the castle'll come down," Harry said. "Did you see all those wards holding the castle steady?"

Not what Draco wanted to think about. Focusing on the matter at hand, he took the tincture bottle from his pocket. He uncorked it, then little by little tilted the bottle so that a single drop gathered at the tip, hung glistening, and then fell and disappeared into the water below.

At first--nothing. Draco leaned close, staring into the dark water. Even with Harry's light, the surface was black, as if they were standing in ink. For a moment, his heart sank. If this didn't work, then they would have to search the entire dungeons. That would take days, perhaps weeks, and he wanted to finish this quickly and never come back again. Harry leaned down, glanced at him first, then back at the water.

"Are we waiting for something--oh wow!"

Draco smiled. The pure tincture's magic shone like phosphorescence, a delicate pink film on the water's surface that trembled and slipped away down the corridor, leaving a soft blur as a trail for them.

"How is it doing that?" Harry asked. "The water's supposed to eat magic."

"And it is," Draco said. "Tincture is almost pure magic, and this stuff is my mother's ninety-nine percent pure stock. It will linger long enough for us to keep it in sight."

They sloshed through the tunnel, easily following the glow as it turned a corner. As it faded only a few seconds later, Draco spilt another drop. Harry dimmed his wand so they could spot the faint light more easily, then put his arm around Draco to hold him close. The glow was just enough to see the smooth stone glisten and see the black water glitter like jet stones, letting them avoid the jutting debris as they nudged aside the dead. Their progress was slow but steady, a bubble of light between miles of darkness.


	10. Wherein Draco swims deep below Hogwarts

"How deep do the dungeons go?" Harry whispered. It only seemed right to whisper. They were alone in what felt like miles of dark corridors, but the still air compelled them to speak in the tiniest voices. "I didn't know they went this deep."

"They didn't used to," Draco said. He'd slid close to Harry as they waded through water that crept higher up their calves, trying to slosh silently around walls that had cracked and broken in, and after an hour--maybe just minutes?--he all but huddled under Harry's robe. One hand held the tincture leading them on, and the other held his wand, hex at the ready.

"'Didn't used to'?" Harry echoed. "That doesn't make sense."

Draco paused, giving Harry a look. When Harry just blinked at him, Draco sighed and kept going.

"It's Hogwarts," Draco said as if that should explain everything, but it didn't and he went on in exasperation. "It keeps changing itself. There's probably lots of tunnels down here. The school just closes them up to...I dunno...save space. Or energy."

"Oh." Harry considered that. "And that's why Dumbledore doesn't know where everything is. Even a map couldn't show what isn't there. I wonder why he never made one like the Marauders did."

Draco didn't even ask. Harry had given him the vague idea that James Potter and a few others had made the map of the school, and Gryffindor exploits bored him. He only knew that the map had been damaged if not destroyed by soaking in the water during the battle, and he made a mental note to ask if he could help restore it. The spells on it had to be interesting.

But that wasn't his most pressing question, and he reminded himself to stay focused.

"What I wonder," he said, whispering as the air grew more oppressive and silent, "is why you didn't give Dumbledore everything he wanted during tea."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, glancing down as Draco leaned so close that he bumped into him. With a smile, he put his arm around Draco's shoulders and brought the side of his robe around with it, covering his husband with the warm, heavy cloth.

"I mean," Draco said, not commenting on being held like a child afraid of the dark. "He kept angling for an invitation back, but you never gave him one."

"Oh, that." Harry nodded.

They came to a fork where the tunnel split into several smaller passages. The faint glimmer in the water hesitated, then glided towards the right into an arched drain that a child would have found a tight fit. Harry held his wand to the entrance, and his light only went a few feet before the tunnel grew dark again. He patted the stone along the sides and grimaced at the layer of muck that had gathered. The flood had fully submerged this route, and even with the waters receding, the water would be uncomfortably high as they went. All too easy to carelessly splash their wands.

Edging into the tunnel, Harry grimaced as he had to lean forward over water that increasingly crept up to his waist.

"I don't think it'll collapse on us," he said. "But we're gonna have to walk bent over. And it's bound to be packed with debris."

Draco frowned and looked over his shoulder again. His instincts urged him to hurry, and his imagination kept calling to mind the hags and rawheads that liked to frequent underground lairs like this. Something might be lurking on the other side. Or worse, something could rush up behind them. If they couldn't fight or get away, that narrow drain would be their tomb.

"Do you think you can apparate over there?" he asked.

Harry screwed up his face in disgust. "I don't want to try apparating to the other side. There's no way of telling where it is. We could end up stuck inside a wall, and I'd probably splinch myself."

Or both of us, Draco thought, if Harry tried to take him, too. The image of them splinched in half in a dark tunnel, drowning in fetid water, made his mind up. One of them had to be able to fight.

"All right then," Draco said, reaching up and undoing the buttons at his throat. "I'm going first. I'll be able to move things easier."

"You?" Harry laughed despite the dirty look it got him. "You hate touching slimy stuff."

"Yes, and I expect a lot of chocolate and books and late mornings to make up for it," Draco said, shrugging out of his tight robe and tossing it over Harry's shoulder. "But you're too big to maneuver down there without getting your wand wet. I'll clear some of the way."

"You're not much smaller," Harry said, but his voice trailed off as he realized what Draco was doing. He accepted Draco's pants and took the vial and his wand, standing guard as the blonde lowered himself into the dark water. Without being asked, he tilted his wand, moving the light off of Draco as he transformed.

Draco was grateful but couldn't bring himself to thank Harry. The feeling of scales replacing skin, of bones twisting, disgusted Draco, and it would have been all the worse if Harry watched, no matter how much his husband protested that his halfbreed form was beautiful.

Pearlescent snakeskin gleamed under the grime that quickly coated him. He gave himself a moment to stretch, testing his tail, too short to support his weight or let him rear up off his stomach. His claws proved more useful, finding the crevices in the floor and wall to pull himself along, and the water helped carry his weight so that he turned easily to face Harry.

"You okay?" Harry asked, touching his shoulder. "You sure you want to do this?"

"Not in the slightest," Draco muttered. He listening for the smallest sound in the silence, for any footsteps or splashes beyond the constant drip and eddies of water all around them. "Stay close behind me?"

"Promise." It wasn't easy for Harry to stay within arm's reach, especially not if he didn't want to step on Draco's tail, but he stayed close enough so Draco could whip around and curl behind him if something attacked.

Although he was thankful that Harry kept up the strong lumos spell, Draco was uncomfortable being in the light. The narrow walls meant the lumos spell lit up their little bubble of space like the sun, and he knew Harry was staring at his body as he slithered through the water. At least Harry didn't comment on it, but Draco felt caught between two rotten options, to submerge up to his shoulders or to creep along with half his body on display. If it had been anyone besides his husband, he would have sunk up to his chin.

Within a few minutes he forgot that he was being watched as he shoved dead grindylows and decomposing plants against the side of the tunnel, splashing his hands in the water to get the worst of the mold and decay off of them. The flood's first mad rush of water must have slammed the poor creatures around like bludgers and packed them into the offshoot drains. Worse--this was what Voldemort had intended for the Slytherin children, to pile up their bodies so deep under the school that most of them would never be found.

Draco choked off that train of thought before he grew sick, making himself think about something else.

"You didn't tell me why," he said suddenly, speaking louder than he meant to.

"Why what?" Harry asked, startled as Draco's voice echoed back down the tunnel.

Draco's winced and reminded himself to whisper. "Why you didn't invite Dumbledore back. He was trying to get you to invite him but you didn't. I was afraid you would, but you were perfect."

"Was I?"

There was a strange tone to Harry's voice. Draco paused and turned to look at him, wondering why he looked so sadly at the water, staring as if it was a scrying pool. Hesitating a little, he touched Harry's hand, relieved that his snake skin at least made Harry look up and smile again. Taking the moment to pause and rest his back, Harry knelt beside him. Water came up to his chest.

"You know, I used to worship him," Harry said. "He didn't treat me like a servant or a monster. He was nice. He got me away from the Dursleys. And he knew so much about everything it seemed. I...I got to fly because of him."

Draco nodded once. He didn't want to imagine what it was like living with those muggle worms. Learning magic and how to fly must have been a miracle to the young Harry. 

"I worshipped him," Harry said. "And today..."

Harry laughed once and stared at the wall. "I would've invited him. I knew what he wanted. Bloody obvious, really."

"Why didn't you?" Draco asked.

"He didn't ask me," Harry said. "He only asked you."

Rerunning the conversation in his head, Draco had to agree. In fact, the old wizard hadn't really even looked at Harry, had he? Draco had been so worried about what Dumbledore had been after that he'd missed how Dumbledore treated him. Draco fell silent, not sure how to respond. For someone that Harry had looked up to suddenly dismissing him like that... It clearly hurt. And Draco had noticed nothing.

"I'm sorry," Draco murmured. "I was so busy countering him..."

His voice trailed off. Dumbledore's uninvited appearance, Severus disobeying Lucius, and his earlier exhaustion were poor excuses.

"I think that's why he didn't notice me," Harry said. "He was busy with you. You're the one he was concentrating on."

Draco laughed once. "He's losing his edge. The whole world knows you control me. 'Potter's tamed the Malfoys' s'what everyone says."

Despite his hurt, Harry grinned. "Only because they don't see how you twist me around your little finger, especially when you're not trying to manipulate me."

Although he didn't agree, Draco didn't argue. He felt much better if Harry was smiling, even in a dreary and dank tunnel into nothingness. Heroes were supposed to smile as they did heroic things. He was sure of it. The children's books with heroes fighting monsters always had the good wizard smirking or laughing as he cast spells at trolls and giants. And heroes always won, so Draco would be fine if he just kept lurking behind him.

Especially as he heard the faint rumblings of something massive breathing further along the tunnel.

"I think I'd better go first now," Harry said, stepping over Draco. "Stay behind me."

Nodding, Draco opened his mouth to ask for his wand, then cut himself off. He couldn't maneuver down this tunnel and keep his wand dry at the same time. He settled for following stealthily at Harry's heels, but so much broken stone and wood lay in his way that it slowed him down. Harry drew out of arm's reach, but not far enough to make Draco worry. The light shone around Harry like a sun.

And then the light vanished. Draco gasped and curled against the side of the tunnel, making himself small as he froze, and his heart clenched up tight. Harry had dropped his wand--Harry was hiding from a terrible monster--Harry had been eaten by a silent monster that was creeping towards Draco--

Harry laughed. Draco peeked up from behind his arm, unclenching his claws from the wall.

"It's all right," Harry said, coming back to the tunnel. "Come on."

Easing back into the dirty water, Draco pulled himself along until the tunnel opened into a giant chamber. No wonder he'd thought that Harry's light had gone out. The lumos charm couldn't light this much darkness, fading to shadows towards the walls.

"What do you suppose it is?" Harry asked. He aimed his wand at the farthest corners, but he there were no candles to light along the ceiling.

Draco gingerly crawled forward, coming up out of the water onto smooth stones. Black grime covered everything, absorbing the lumos charm so that the dark water seemed to surround them and swallow them up. Only the vaguest shapes lay within the shadows, and Draco blinked, wishing his wyvern eyes saw as well in darkness as water. Harry ventured farther in, oblivious to the water rising to his knees, and Draco grimaced as he trailed after him, wincing as he crept into deeper water.

"Hey," Harry called from the center of the room. "Look at this."

Unwilling to slip completely underwater, Draco put his hands down and crawled along the bottom, keeping his head above the surface as he slithered to Harry's side. His tincture glowed faintly pink as it trickled out of sight beneath a broken chair and sodden books pressed against the rotten upholstery. Harry flicked the chair out of the way, revealing a pile of stones that he carefully removed one by one until he found a quartz crystal in the center. Smooth and almost clear, the only reason they even noticed it among the muck and ichor was the trail of tincture and the zigzag rune carved in its side.

"Jera," Draco muttered. "Harvest. There's a sick joke. Harvesting magic _and_ the students."

Harry didn't care about the meaning. He half shrugged and pushed the surrounding stones out of the way so he could see it clearly. "Now what?" he asked.

"Don't touch it," Draco said, curling around Harry's leg for support. "It could be warded by the dark lord."

"I don't think it is," Harry said, rubbing his scar just to see if it would hurt. "It doesn't feel like his magic at all. You sure he cast the spell?"

"Well, no," Draco said slowly. "Filch just had to write the mark. I guess. But Voldemort cast the spell that used the crystal."

"If it's dark magic," Harry said with the deliberate tone of solving a math puzzle, "then it's just the rune acting out its basic meaning. Harvest, you said? But it can't take the power of anything it doesn't touch. So..."

Harry drew up the corner of his robe and wrapped it around his hand like a mitt. Before Draco could cry out, Harry had grabbed the quartz and then slid it into his pocket. With a grin, Harry patted it securely.

"Relax," Harry said. "It's fine. Not touching me, see?"

Draco hissed and slapped the water with his tail, splashing them both. "Potter, I swear I don't know how you survived this long--"

A splash, and a dull snap like a piece of brittle stone crunched under a boot--something was climbing over the debris in the tunnel. Draco froze, but Harry stepped over him and aimed at the entrance. The mouth of the tunnel glowed faintly at first, then stronger, as whatever was coming drew closer and closer. Draco curled up and eased into deeper water, submerging to his eyes.

Severus stumbled into view, grimacing as he shook excess water from his sleeve. Draco blinked. His master looked like he'd fallen at least once, soaking himself through--even his hair straggled worse than usual. His wand dripped as he held it straight, lumos charm flickering unsteadily. He took a few steps forward, sighing to himself, when he heard Draco's tail swish. Standing straight, he peered into the darkness and groaned when he made out Harry and Draco's silhouette in the darkness.

"Damn," Severus grumbled. "I was afraid you'd be here."

Harry snorted. "Thought you'd be too busy having tea with Dumbledore to notice we were gone."

"And you," Severus said lowly, "are so clearly self-absorbed in your own little adventures that you've neglected to notice the tail you've picked up. I'm only a few minutes ahead of them."

"'Tail'?" Draco glanced at Harry's backside. "What?"

"Muggle term," Harry said quickly. "Someone's following us. Who? Fudge?"

"If only," Severus said, nodding at the mouth of the tunnel. "Seal that up. It won't stop her, but it should buy us a few more minutes."

Her. Draco closed his eyes. His aunt was somewhere in the castle looking for him.

"We need to find a way out," Severus said. "I don't expect you've found the artifact?"

"In my pocket," Harry said absently, mind somewhere else. He levitated some of the larger chunks of brick and slag and piled it all in front of the tunnel until he'd blocked it up. "Draco, what was the word for fire again?"

"Fyria." Draco winced as Harry created a long ribbon of flame that melted the stones into a glowing slag. No simple wingardium leviosa would raise those again. "Great, now we're trapped."

He looked at Severus, expecting his master to have a plan already in mind. Instead he saw worry, frustration. Severus was making this up as he went along, without time to think of an escape route. Draco laughed humorlessly.

"Malfoy recklessness," Draco muttered. "Must be contagious."

Severus shot him a glare. "And what are you doing here? If you were coming here, you should have told me."

"So you could tell us not to go?" Harry scoffed, turning his attention back to Snape. "And then you'd be here in the same position without any help."

"Some help," Severus shot back. "I wouldn't have left a glowing trail right after myself."

"No, you'd just be wandering around aimlessly," Harry said.

"Hardly aimless," Severus said. "The wreckage settled here in these lower chambers. Anyone with half a brain could see that."

"Enough!" Draco snapped at both of them. "Find another way out. Then you can bloody well argue."

Looking like they'd rather keep arguing, Harry and Severus huffed and turned their attention to the walls.

"Start looking," Severus said. "Look for low spots, places where the water might be draining. And be careful what you touch."

"Wait, use my wand," Draco said suddenly. "Harry has it. It's still dry, and I can't use it while I'm like this."

"Like...?" Severus looked more closely, then breathed in sharply when he realized why Draco was on the floor. "That's how you came through that narrow passage."

There was an awkward silence, and then he glared at Harry.

"You have no idea what you have in him," Severus said lowly. "And I don't need a wand. You must have drawn the artifact from the water before mine submerged."

Turning his back, he went to search the other side of the chamber, sparing Draco the exposure the extra light would bring.

Harry blinked, not sure what he'd done to receive that insult. Usually when he and Snape sparred, the reasons were obvious.

Draco tugged on the hem of Harry's pants, drawing him to one side so that his lumos revealed the rough walls and rusted sconces that once held flames.

"What'd he mean by that?" Harry whispered, kneeling beside Draco as they searched the floor.

"That I let you see me like this," Draco breathed. He looked over his shoulder to see if Severus could hear them talking. "I don't think father ever has."

"That's...sad," Harry said. His hand brushed against Draco's hair and touched the scales of his cheek. "I know you feel self-conscious when I watch you, but I love seeing you this way."

Draco didn't answer. He wasn't comfortable enough in his skin to stay in the light, let alone think that Harry found him attractive. If he hadn't been so dependent on Harry that night he transformed in the Slytherin bathrooms, he never would have let Harry see him at all. If he hadn't desperately needed him to open the door, to flood the room, to-

Draco lowered his eyes. No, he couldn't blame all that on Harry. He'd begged him to stay. He reached up and took his hand, squeezing once.

"Found it!"

Waving them over, Severus touched the wand to one of the large stones that made up the wall, carefully dragging it halfway out. The castle groaned around them and he paused, waiting for the sound to fade before pulling it the rest of the way. Another stone, square and smooth, lay behind it, and Severus drew it loose from a crumbly mooring of ancient mortar. Gray stone flecks showered around their feet.

"What is it?" Draco asked, sitting up as high as his tail would support and leaning heavily on Harry, watching as a third stone drifted by. "How deep does that wall go?"

"Not far," Severus said, waving the light inside the small hole he'd made. "It's the reason this chamber isn't flooded. The lake has been draining through the crevices here. There's another part of the castle beneath this one."

"But it was walled up," Draco breathed. He stared into the pitch black darkness as if something with claws and fangs might lunge out. Wizards did not idly seal off rooms--there was always a reason. "If the founders themselves didn't want people in here..."

"If it's what I think it is," Severus said, "then the founders had nothing to do with it. The castle itself sealed it off."

Ignoring his son's fear, Severus began on the next stone. A moment later, Harry was tugging the stones out of the wall as well. Between them, the chamber was soon filled with the cracking rumble of the wall coming apart, and Draco curled up at Harry's feet. With their wands consumed with levitation spells, the lumos spells faded to the mere glow of Harry's magic, and the new chamber swallowed up even that spark like a gaping mouth.

Which made spotting the light from someone else's wand that much easier. Draco turned his attention to the way they'd come in and found a golden glimmer coming from behind them, through the spaces around the slag Harry had melted.

"Hurry!" Draco hissed, rearing up as high as he could and losing his balance, hastily settling back in the water.

As usual when he was transformed, he cursed his useless tail. Still clinging to Harry, he grabbed his wand out of his husband's pocket and aimed at the mouth of the tunnel. Good thing Severus hadn't taken the wand after all. But what spell to use? Collapse the tunnel and cut themselves off from escape, maybe even causing a cave in? He couldn't summon a wave like Pansy, and the water...

Draco blinked. The crystal could no longer leech magic, but whoever was in the tunnel wouldn't know that.

"Wæter æt min calla, blæc loch, ruschen hom," he whispered, pointing his wand at the water by the tunnel.

To his relief, it moved readily at his command, rippling and then flowing backwards through cracks and crevices in the debris. He cast the spell again at the deep puddle around his tail, and as it moved past him to join the water at the tunnel, a hollow echo rumbled from behind the stones. Still levitating blocks, Harry and Severus paused to listen, surprised as water cascaded over the bottom-most stones.

His spell did nothing to dry the chamber, but it was enough to threaten to flood the tunnel. A handful of startled cries were followed by the light fading away again as their followers ran back for fear that their wands would submerge.

"Clever," Severus murmured, pulling out one more stone.

There were no more layers of rock behind that one. Harry and Severus both leaned close, sending a lumos charm into the darkness.

"Can you see anything?" Harry asked.

"Just a torch sconce," Severus said. "Nothing else."

They cleared away enough of the stones to allow them through, although Severus had to stoop under the low ceiling. It was easier for Draco as he slithered after them.

Harry knelt beside him, resting his hand on Draco's shoulder. "Are you all right? I could carry you if you like."

Draco shook his head. "No, the ground's pretty slick. Just don't walk too fast."

"We won't," Severus said firmly. "Who knows what the castle may have locked down here?"

"I thought you said you had an idea," Harry said.

"A guess..." Severus said, then turned his attention to the corridor. "Fyria."

The torch fastened against the wall sputtered to life, giving a weak orange flame. The iron sconce was rusted through and the corner fell off, clattering across the floor as they walked by.

"We won't be able to trust these for long," Severus said, nonetheless lighting each torch he spotted.

Following close at his heels, Draco looked over his shoulder as the opening grew smaller and smaller. Soon the darkness swallowed it completely.

"Where do you think we are?" he asked.

"One of the castle's hidden rooms," Severus said. "Hogwarts likes to hide things, like the Room of Requirement. The Chamber of Secrets."

"That little room in the library," Draco said, remembering the cramped space they'd hidden from the dark lord in.

"Exactly," Severus said. "It'd be shortsighted to think there were no other secrets."

"But those-" Harry winced as his voice sounded a trifle too loud. He continued in a whisper. "Those were made by the founders."

"I don't think the founders were as all-knowing as everyone likes to believe," Severus said. "They were human. And more importantly, Salazar was a Slytherin."

"No kidding," Harry said. "No one sane keeps a pet basilisk."

"His...sanity aside," Severus said, not arguing that point, "he was a Slytherin. And we keep secrets. It's simply part of our nature. We'll keep secrets even when we don't really need to."

Smirking, Harry started to comment, then considered who he was with and decided not to. "So he buried something in the bottom of Hogwarts?"

"No," Severus said slowly, sounding as if he was piecing his idea together. "The castle did. Because it was influenced by him."

Not understanding, Harry glanced at Draco to see if he knew what Severus meant. Draco noticed his look and nodded assurance at him.

"It's different if you cast a spell than when I do it," Draco said. "My fyria rabaena is a long glowing ribbon that burns slowly. Yours is a bloody firework that singes everything around it."

"So if Salazar hadn't been so secretive," Harry slowly reasoned, "then the castle wouldn't be so secretive?"

"Exactly," Draco said. "Your personality affects the spell, too."

"Kind of like our wands," Harry realized. "Mr. Olivander said mom's wand was good for charm work."

"You never noticed because you're naturally powerful," Severus said. "You have classes you do not like, but none that you could not do."

"Oh."

Now that was odd. Draco paused and wasted a moment looking up at Harry. The tilted head, slumping shoulders, hands searching for pockets he didn't have--all signs of a self-conscious Potter. Now was hardly the time for a heart to heart, not with Severus there, but he knew he'd have to ask later.

When he started crawling along again, he put his hand into a puddle that was elbow-deep. Shuddering, he yanked his hand back and wiped off what he was sure was dead grindylow slime. Harry and Severus were several yards ahead now, and he grimaced and pulled himself faster along the ground.

Dripping water over the years had left a layer of soft clay, and while Severus and Harry had to grab the wall occasionally to keep from falling, Draco dug his claws in and easily hauled himself along. The floor didn't seem to be at an angle, but the water went from puddles to ankle deep pools, slowly rising up to his shoulders. The end of his tail floated as the water took most of his weight.

Draco glanced over his shoulder--most of the flames had burned out, dribbling red ashes into nothingness. He blinked. Perhaps the flood had drained all the magic from them so that they burned like muggle torches. But if they'd been soaked, then they wouldn't have dried out enough to burn, would they? Shouldn't they have come apart before? The more he thought about it, the less sense it made to him.

But the flood must have come through here, he thought. The water was now high enough that he had to hold his head above the surface. He pushed himself up, locking his arms as he stretched, then shivered and submerged again, grateful that the water was finally covering his tail.

Before he could swim past, though, Severus knelt and grabbed his shoulder.

"Stay by us," his master warned him.

"But the water doesn't go any deeper," Draco said, glancing at the corridor ahead.

"Don't trust it," Severus said. "It looks smooth on the surface, but it might be hiding something below. If there's something in there, you're in the most danger. Your tail effectively cripples you."

His master's blunt disregard for his feelings didn't surprise him, but it didn't sting when it wasn't true. Draco ducked under his grip and slithered several feet ahead, turning to face them with a cocky smile.

"Not really," Draco said, bringing his tail around to his side and rising up on one arm, reclining comfortably. "I found out I can swim pretty well, and as long as there's enough water to take some of my weight, I ca-ahhh!"

His hand slipped as the floor behind him suddenly ended and he toppled backwards, the edge scraping along his side, knocking his head as he plunged into deep water. For a moment, everything was silent as he drifted, completely submerged as he tried to get his bearings. There were stairs under him, and he twisted around, gathering his tail under himself and grabbing the edges of the steps, breaking the surface again with a gasp.

"-aco! Are you all right?"

He winced as Harry grabbed his arm with bruising strength and pulled him back onto the floor. Sputtering, Draco wiped his hair from his eyes.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he grumbled. "S'just stairs. I didn't see how far they go."

"To the keystone, I'd wager," Severus said.

"'Keystone'?" Harry asked.

Severus stared at the water as if he could see through the darkness. "I'd always wondered where it was. The original foundation of Hogwarts."

"What?" Harry said. "But why's that important now? I thought we were trying to get out."

"We are," Severus said as if Harry was mentally deficient. "The foundation may allow us out. No one can say how the founders built the castle. Or why they chose this spot. Our best hope is that something powerful resides at the bottom of this chamber."

"The Chamber of Secrets was pretty far down," Harry said. "I thought that was the lowest point."

"Magically, perhaps," Severus said. "But no matter how much magic they used, no matter how much they tried to shape reality, the founders could not escape certain physical truths. They had to start building somewhere."

"Down here?" Draco asked.

Now that he took a second look, the stairs were obvious. The water wasn't black, just dark, and there were no torches here to show them how far down they went or how large the chamber was. The corridor didn't even seem to end-it simply widened out in a broad circle with no way to see the other side. The walls faded into darkness, and their whispers didn't echo, swallowed up in nothing.

"So now what?" Harry said. "We can't go back."

"We may not need to," Severus said. "We should try to reach the bottom of this chamber."

"Bubble charms, then?" Harry asked. "But what if something's alive down there?"

"Like the triwizard tournament, there are ways of fighting underwater," Severus said. "But I don't think we'll have to. This section was sealed, and if there were other entrances, the castle would have sealed them off as well."

"So...it should be empty," Draco said softly, looking over the edge again. "Just hard to see."

"Potter," Severus said, drawing his wand. "You'll need to charm yourself completely. If the artifact you're carrying touches the water, it may start leeching magic again."

"Got it." Harry nodded and listened to Severus' spell to remind himself of what to say. "Ebublio."

Effervescent bubbles billowed around Harry, taking Draco's breath away. Although the charm was translucent, Harry looked like he was behind a shimmering shield of silver that wrapped around his whole body like a cloak. It glowed a faint blue, coloring the stone walls and shimmering on the water's surface.

Draco touched the edge of his shield, marveling as raw magic glowed on the tip of his claws. It even tingled like a soda pop. Harry took a cautious step into the water, careful not to slip as he descended. The bubble charm hissed and churned the water around him, but he stayed perfectly dry.

"Needlessly flashy," Severus muttered. "No wonder he fit into the family."

Leading the way down, Harry didn't hear him, sloshing through the water until he completely submerged. Draco followed after, using the stairs at first and growing more confident that he wouldn't sink. Grabbing the edge of each step, he pulled himself down and caught up with his husband, mesmerized by the light gleaming off the small currents they made and Harry's luminescent magic left behind on the steps like a trail, scuffed in small part as Severus came behind them, casting a lumos that couldn't reach the walls.

In the Slytherin dungeons, he'd become used to the sounds of grindylow songs, bubbles rising from the deep and the rush of the squid swimming by the glass. Even the castle's own groans and creaks had been amplified by the lake. Down here, the water was silent and clear. There was no slime or silt. Nothing had been alive down here for centuries.

As they walked, the staircase grew wide enough to accommodate all of them, then broadened out and out until they couldn't see the edges. The last step led them to a stone floor with a handful of large, crudely cut stones placed haphazardly around the chamber. Each stone was waist-high and looked hand-chiseled, with rough hewn carving down the middle. Nothing else was visible.

Making a guess, Draco crept along the floor into the deepening shadows, casting his own lumos charm. His spell only lit a few inches around himself, fainter than a candle against the sheer depth they were in, but after a moment he found the wall and an old torch fastened to the stone. His touch made the wood crumble to nothing, and the sconce was little more than a smooth basin worn into the stone.

With his claw, he scratched the rune _cen_ into the hollow and touched his wand to it, whispering its name so that a bubble left his lips. The rune glimmered like a firefly, then grew bright enough to light his face.

Satisfied, he turned and pushed away from the wall, swimming with the faintest waves of his tail. The weightlessness of his movements, without the awkward heaviness on land that made him flop around like a fish, brought him closer to flight than his broom, holding him aloft like a bird. He flicked his tail and swiftly came up to the opposite wall, putting his hands up to catch himself. In the clear water, he felt as if he was hovering.

There were precious few sconces to light. As he swam back to Harry's side, he circled his head and floated in front of his face. He'd been underwater long enough that his chest started to burn for air, and he leaned close, pressing his lips against the larger bubble over Harry's face. For a moment he shared his husband's breath, stealing a little for himself and letting Harry touch the scales on his shoulder.

Satisfied, Draco floated a few inches away and looked questioningly at Severus. There was nothing else in the chamber, just the seven or eight large rocks. The castle had sealed the chamber well, but there didn't seem to be any reason.

Not nearly as comfortable in the water, Severus took a slow step to the closest stone and ran his hand over it. As large as the rest, it held a deep gash down the middle, large enough for a man to fit. One end of the stone was lower than the other, and broadly flat. Severus closed his eyes, deep in thought, then turned and eased himself down into the deep hollow of the stone, now clearly a primitive desk.

Draco marveled. How obvious it was now that Severus was sitting there! He darted to the next desk and curled up inside, running his hands over the flat part. It was just large enough to set parchment and write. He grinned and looked up at the blank wall, feeling lighthearted despite himself. For years, he'd nursed a long grudge that Harry got to explore the school and discover all its secrets. So this was what that felt like. If school had been in session, perhaps Gryffindor and Slytherin would both have won house points.

On his other side, Harry came around him and floated over to the wall, touching it with his fingertips. It was obviously where a teacher would have stood, and perhaps there was nothing more to see. Just an empty classroom that hadn't been remembered, let alone used, for several lifetimes.

He looked over his shoulder at Severus. "Now what?" he mouthed.

Severus frowned and considered, resting his head in his hand. Draco held back a smile. His master must have looked just like that when he was a student, ignoring everyone else as he thought over a question.

With a quick lift of his head, Severus looked at the wall, the answer obviously in mind. But then he hesitated. He tentatively tried to speak, resulting in a few bubbles and no sound. He then turned to Draco and looked him in the eye, and a command formed in Draco's thoughts.

_Ask what we should do._

Draco blinked. The problem with occlumency, he knew, was that even if you could hear someone's thoughts, you didn't always know what they meant.

_What on earth are you talking about?_

Severus gave him a very familiar look, one that he usually wore when Draco spoiled an easy potion.

_You're the only one who can speak underwater. I think. You have to ask--out loud--what should we do with the stone._

A dozen questions ran through Draco's mind--Ask who? Why? Should I face a certain way? How'd you figure all this?--but he'd learned not to badger Severus with questions. Pretending he was in class asking the teacher for help, he looked at the wall and spoke.

His voice sang through the water, surprising all of them. A handful of bubbles left his lips, but only out of human habit. Wyvern instinct formed his words, long and thin, like a bell underwater. The chamber swallowed the sound quickly, and Draco glanced sideways at Severus, wondering if he should ask again. His master stared at the far wall so intently that Draco kept looking between them, trying to keep it all in sight.

But it was the echo of something else from above, soft splashing and the burbled sounds of underwater spells, that had Draco out of his seat and staring up into the darkness. He couldn't see her, couldn't really hear her, but he knew.

His aunt was coming down those stairs.


	11. Wherein our heroes make a bloody escape

Draco's tail flicked hard, sending him out of his chair...but Severus was faster, grabbing Draco's arm and pinning him to the desk. For a moment Draco hung upside-down over his chair, feeling briefly as if he was drowning and staring at his master in shock.

_Sit down, you idiot!_

Draco stopped kicking his tail. There was real fear in Severus' voice. He nodded, a useless gesture when his master already knew he understood, and settled slowly back into the chair, letting his tail curl underneath him. As wrong as it felt to turn his back on his enemies, he forced himself to face the blank wall.

He had asked the question. To the castle, he was the only student there, and he had to remain seated. He put his hands on the desk, gripping the smooth edge until his knuckles turned white.

Beside him, Harry drew his wand and faced the stairs. Severus did the same. They exchanged a look, and Draco wondered what went on in their unspoken thoughts. He grimaced, putting his head in his hands. He had his back to the monster sneaking up on him, which went against every instinct he had. He should've gone to extinguish the lights and then help them swim up in the shadows, avoiding Bellatrix--

The water stirred. Draco felt it in an instant, raising his head and watching the wall intently. That vibration had come from somewhere, and the lingering ripple on his scales proved he hadn't imagined it. He didn't dare look over his shoulder to see if Harry had cast any spells. No, he knew where the sound came from. The wall itself shuddered, responding to his call.

Strange gray streaks lifted from the floor, swirling towards the wall. Draco looked at them curiously, wondering if it was magic, but as he felt the water flowing over his skin, saw his hair floating in the water, he realized that the streaks were silt and dust. The current was quickening, rushing toward the wall.

Like a gunshot in his ear, a huge crack shot down the wall from floor to ceiling, crumbling wider as the current pulled harder, revealing a black space that was impossible to see into. Stones started to roll across the floor, and Draco drove his claws into the desk as his tail rose with the current.

From up above, the debris of dead grindylows and broken wood all careened past him, scraping his shoulder, his tail. Something hard knocked against his head, and he pressed close against the stone, wincing as things flew past his face. His lungs started to ache. He needed to breathe, but Harry was-

A bolt of panic ran through him, colder than the water. Harry was somewhere in this mess, maybe caught in the growing whirlpool. Draco sat up and turned, one hand up to ward off the thickening silt. The water roared around him, too loud to hear through, and the silt was impossible to see past. He reached out blindly, knowing Harry was probably much farther ahead, flinching as pebbles and tiny detritus struck his fingertips.

And then a warm hand brushed against his, was buffeted away by the current, then came back again and wrapped firmly around his hand, closing tight. Draco grasped him in return, then felt the water's pressure lift slightly as the glow of a scellean impervius sheltered them from the rushing current. There was a chill as Harry's bubble charm touched Draco's scales, the trapped air cooling the drops on his skin, and Draco pressed against that cold air and breathed deep.

Harry wrapped his free arm around him, holding him tight. And then, with tightly measured steps, began edging towards the the crack in the wall.

Draco looked up in horror. Harry's face was set, facing the darkness like a monster to be defeated, and it was his seriousness, the deadly focus that frightened Draco more than the darkness. Harry had worn that look when he faced Voldemort, and it was all the worse now that Draco had no idea what Harry was fighting. He closed his eyes tight and clutched his husband's shirt, letting his tail curl around Harry's leg.

He wanted to ask where Severus was, where Bellatrix was. What was going on? Fighting his own fear, he turned his head just enough to see the wall, broken down the middle, a mouth bent on swallowing them. What was at the bottom he couldn't guess. Harry edged them further, sliding a few times, and soon they came to the very precipice. Harry managed to catch the side of the hole, holding them steady .

Draco's tail tightened so fiercely around Harry that, even over the roaring water, Draco heard him grunt in pain. He didn't care. The darkness loomed in all directions as if they were staring into another dimension. Harry bent, pounded on by tons of water, holding himself up more by natural magic than any of his own spellcraft. Harry's grip on him tightened as well, and Draco drew in a deep, trembling breath until Harry's hand slipped on the wall and they toppled forward.

They seemed to fall forever. Draco felt little fear of their plummeting, knowing his magic nature would keep him safe. It was what lay beyond, the monsters that lived in dark places, the Death Eaters coming behind them. If only he could apparate--

They landed with a great splash, sinking into deep water. For a moment all sound was muffled, a dull thrumming in his ears as they curled together, hovering in the darkness. Draco flicked his tail, bringing them back up until they broke the surface, gasping for air. He blinked several times and looked around, afraid something hungry might be circling beneath them. All he saw was black water and the faint edge of gray walls, and he had the distinct feeling that they were in a dungeon or oubliette.

"Where are we?" Harry called over the rumbling waterfall. "Snape?"

Harry held his wand above the water, making the light a little brighter. Draco was amazed they could see at all. The water itself seemed to suck in the soft glow so that even the surface didn't shine.

"I told you before," Severus' dry voice answered. "If you ever bothered to listen. At the keystone."

Relieved to hear his master, Draco looked over his shoulder and saw him likewise keeping afloat. Severus looked like a drowned cat, but he was none worse for wear.

"Are you both all right?" Severus asked, though noticeably focusing only on Draco, who nodded. "Good. Potter, tell me you still have the stone."

"The one that eats magic?" Harry said. "Yeah, in my pocket. But won't it start eating magic again--?"

"No time to explain," Severus said. "Quickly, give it here."

Frowning, Harry handed Draco his wand to free up his hand before bringing the stone out of his pocket. He looked at it for a second, a seemingly simple rock with a rune carved on one end, and then handed it to Severus. The potions master swam over to the wall and scraped the stone against the side for several seconds, stared at the rune, then scraped it harder and looked again. Hesitating, he held it up for Draco to see.

"What does it read now?" he demanded.

Draco squinted. The rock was a mess, but two of the rune's lines had been scratched away, leaving only one pair of lines. "Kaunan...torch?"

"Good enough." Severus held out the stone and let it go.

The water swallowed it with a plop, and they all fell silent, waiting for a response from the castle, but there was nothing save the sound of more water crashing down around them.

"What are we waiting for?" Draco whispered.

"For the stone to touch the bottom," Severus said. He reached out and grabbed Harry's arm, putting one hand on Draco's back. "Don't break contact. It could takes minutes or seconds, and we mustn't be separated."

"What could be any minute?" Harry snapped.

"The keystone is where the founders started building," Severus said in a rush, as if he expected to be interrupted. "With the rune changed, it should flood the magic back to the castle and...listen!"

A low rumbling came from below them, and the water churned with violent ripples shooting up. All three of them tightened their grip, but although the water bubbled, nothing else happened. Long seconds passed as they waited, and then Draco started to get impatient. He frowned, realizing it was stupid, but he wished the castle would make up its mind and do something.

"What's taking so long?" he wondered. "It's been long enough to reach the bottom."

"It might be waiting for your aunt to come a little closer, I think," Severus said. "Mind you, I'm figuring this out as we go."

"Feel free to let us in on it," Harry said irritably.

"I told you, we're at the keystone," Severus said. "The place where Hogwarts began. This place is rife with symbolism. A deep cavern, the water, the dark and formless chaos...this is a place of power. Much like Queen Morgan had her pond, the founders used a cavern to base their castle."

"But if it's so powerful," Harry said, "then why isn't the castle fixing itself? Why are we stuck here?"

"Because all the power was stolen out of it and sucked into that stone," Severus said. "I think that's why the wall broke inwards, so that we would enter and give its power back."

"All right, it's got its power," Harry said, "so shouldn't it be letting us go?"

"Not...not yet," Severus said, but the way he looked over his shoulder as if looking for any change wasn't reassuring. "I imagine it might take awhile to reabsorb its magic. That, or...well, there is a more worrying possibility."

"Which is?" Harry asked.

"The nature of this spell is somewhat familiar to me," Severus said. "It's similar to the one used in Malfoy Manor, the means of activating an artifact's spell."

Draco narrowed his eyes, not liking where this was going. "The brazier with the spike...oh Lord. It requires blood."

Harry, having been tutored in dark magic and understanding what Draco meant, balked. "Wait, whoa, that's not possible. This is Hogwarts. There's no sacrifices here."

"Says the boy who killed a basilisk under the castle," Severus said. "Remember that Salazar helped build this place. I wouldn't be surprised if he hid a few sacrifices from the rest of the founders."

"I don't care what Salazar did," Draco said. "I don't want to be a sacrifice. We need to find a way out."

"I don't think we have much of a choice," Severus said. "But I think we have a good chance of getting out of this."

"Why?" Harry asked.

"Because--"

"There you are at last."

Bellatrix' voice was honey smooth, and all poison. She stood on the ledge high above them, straddling a waterfall that grew smaller and smaller as all the water flooding the castle finally found its way down here. Several lights moved and bobbed around her, and Draco realized that those were her Death Eaters at her side, their glowing wands making it hard to see them in the dark.

"Douse that!" Severus whispered harshly, pushing Harry's hand into the water.

A second later, Harry's lumos spell sputtered out, hiding them in pitch darkness. Bellatrix laughed and held her own wand out, pouring strength into her own spell, but the oubliette seemed to thicken the shadows against her magic. She snarled out "fyria," sending a bolt of flame down that hissed when it reached the water.

Covered by the darkness, Draco, Severus and Harry all edged up against the wall, clinging to the slick stones. Trying to hold still for fear of splashing, they breathed as quietly as they could, painfully aware of every ripple, every echo in the deep dungeon. If she figured out where they were, she could easily pick them off.

"So you have the castle itself on your side," she said. "All right. I'll just rain down spells until something hits."

The sick green light of avada kedavra's began to sail down, some of them only a few feet away. Draco felt Severus' hand on his shoulder and heard him whisper.

"Swim down," Severus said. "The castle must need something more from us."

"But I don't know what to do," Draco whispered back. If anyone could have seen him, he would have been humiliated by how wide his eyes were, how he trembled.

"Neither do I," Severus said. "But there's nothing else, and you're the only one who can. Go!"

To argue was useless. Draco wasted a moment to turn and steal a kiss from Harry, hoping it wouldn't be the last and a silent goodbye in case it was, and then slithered out of his husband's arms. Gasping in as deep as he could, he pushed against the wall to give himself a strong start down below the water.

Near silence greeted him. At first he heard Harry and Severus above him, heard his aunt's spells striking the surface, but the farther down he swam, the less he heard until only the deep current kept him company, murmuring around his head. Each thrust of his tail took him farther as he learned how to control his movement. He'd never been in water like this, so deep that he could feel it pushing back on him.

Long seconds passed. There was no way of knowing how far he had to go. Almost all of the lake had flooded into the castle. But there were dozens of dungeons all through the Slytherin house, let alone the forgotten dungeons that no one bothered with anymore. Was all of the lake in this one deep shaft? He didn't think he could hold his breath that long.

He started to use his hands, spreading them wide to catch the water and push him forward, closing his fingers when he brought his arms down again. He had a terrible thought that he wasn't going deeper at all, just fighting the current to stay in place. It was impossible to see around him. It was as if he was plunging headlong into a grave.

How many seconds had gone by? Minutes? His chest ached. His head startled to tingle from lack of air. Worse was the knowledge that if he turned back, he wouldn't have enough oxygen to reach the surface again. If he didn't find something down here and fast, he was going to drown all alone in the depths.

Was that what the castle had in mind all along?

His tail grew weaker. His magic was keeping him alive now, but even that couldn't hold out forever. He could feel each thrust moving him less and less. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He put out his hands, hoping to feel a floor or stone, anything.

The sound of the water disappeared. Everything was silent. He stopped swimming, floating and slowly turning on his back, curling into himself. One last bubble escaped his lips and vanished. Against his will, he breathed in. Water flooded his lungs. The jolt of pain made him thrash, convulsively reaching out for anything to save him.

Sacrifice, he thought. It really did want a sacrifice.

His blood whispered to him, comforting him. It was an honor to die for the family, for the darkness, in the darkness. Memories rushed by him—Harry with him in bed, running from the dragon, escaping his manor as it burned, burning on a stake, running into the snow with muggles chasing after him, listening to muggles laughing at him as he languished in their prison.

No, he thought. These aren't me.

But they were him. His blood held all their memories, throwing him back through his own family history. Lysyth de Malfoi sobbing as she found her home burned by Merlin, Eton Malfar holding a knife in a field as he helped cut down the girl in front of him. In that instant, Draco was no longer drowning, was standing in the field centuries ago as the dark families made the first sacrifice. He held the dagger, he stared into the young witch's eyes.

She was still alive, even with all their cuts in her. Somehow she was still standing, naked, no longer shivering in the cold. Painfully thin, on the cusp of becoming a woman, she stood dressed in her own blood and faced him, not afraid but demanding that he cut into her.

Demanding that he cut into himself. Her eyes cursed his weakness and demanded that he follow her example. The darkness devoured its own, and as he hesitated, she reached out as if to take the knife from him and kill herself. He had the feeling that if the other wizards hadn't been there, she would have torn herself apart with her own hands.

Faced with that, he could do nothing less.

The pain was back in his lungs, then searing pain over his whole body. A roaring, and then nothing.

"…"

"…"

"…"

"- stitchen se scinn an menden-"

"...aco..."

"...is he dead?"

"...Draco..."

"-se minden, blod stuppa an turnen bakam-

"...what in heaven's name-?"

"No, don't move him-"

"Draco!"

Pain. Draco gasped and coughed. Water spilled past his lips, and he turned frantically on his side, slashing at someone who tried to hold him still. Hacking out mouthfuls of water, he dragged in ragged breaths as he felt his hands slipping on the ground. Someone put their arms around him and held him up, even running a hand along his face to pull his hair out of the way.

 _Harry,_ he realized. Only Harry ever did that for him. _And if Harry is alive, then-_

The spell song was Severus, still casting the long healing charm despite the new tone of annoyance in his voice. He was probably who had tried to keep him lying flat and got a blind swipe of Draco's claws for his effort. Draco couldn't care. His skin felt like one raw wound, and he made horrible, strangled sounds as he struggled not to throw up. Why couldn't he see? His eyes were open. Why couldn't he see?

Severus changed songs for only a moment, but the ache eased in Draco's lungs and his breath came easier. An anti-drowning charm, but sung just long enough to make sure his chest wouldn't fill with fluid as he healed. It didn't matter. His panic eased now that he could breathe deep.

"Where—what-?" he rasped, trying to talk through a torn throat.

"Don't try to say anything," Harry said. "And don't move. You're just making it harder for him."

How could he not move when he felt like he'd been skinned? He groaned and sobbed, sounding like a wounded animal as he cried. He didn't care who saw or heard him. It hurt, everything hurt. That he knew it would keep on hurting only made the pain worse. Dark healing was fast but so cruel. The twisting and pinching and pulling along his body was new skin being made.

"Talk to him," Severus said, pausing only long enough to scold Harry. "His fear is making it worse."

Draco felt Harry's hand in his own and squeezed, trying to hold on so tight that Harry wouldn't get away. He felt a little reassured when Harry squeezed back.

"We're outside," Harry said. "Where the lake was. It's all muddy here, that's why you keep slipping."

"Hold him," Severus said. "I need to see his other side."

Draco's sobs choked as Harry pulled him up and held him against himself, displaying Draco's back. It was only then that Draco realized he couldn't move his legs because he still had his tail.

"No, don't change," Severus snapped, smacking the back of his head to get his attention. "I don't know how badly you'll tear yourself if you change now."

"Just wait a few more minutes," Harry said. "You can do that, I know you can. You just saved our lives, after all."

Draco turned his head, burying his face in the crook of Harry's arm. His sobs became weak whimpers, exhausted by the swim and by the pain. Inch by wrenching inch, his body mended. The pain turned into the deep ache wherever the healing spell had worked, and when Harry turned him to face Severus, Draco only groaned weakly, too tired to cry.

It was the sensation of his eyes pressing against the sockets, the blazing light and searing heat, that made him realize he hadn't been crying. His eyes had been slashed and those tears had been blood. This time he only felt the sheer wrongness of feeling his eyes healing, and the lack of pain relieved him. When Severus drew back, finished, Draco blinked a few times, then put his arm over his face to cover them.

"There," Severus sighed, sitting slumped and crooked. He looked as exhausted as Draco. "God..."

Draco made a tiny groan, barely louder than a whisper. His body felt like lead, far too heavy to move. He wanted to be in bed, warm, dry, safe. Safe. That made him think of his aunt, and he had to know. It took several seconds for him to work up the strength to ask, but he managed to slur her name out.

"Bell'trix?" he croaked.

"I think she's dead," Severus said. "Her and the others with her-"

"Oh God..." Harry suddenly said, grabbing Draco up again. "Sev', take my hand, we're leaving-"

"What?"

"Now!"

Draco felt his master reaching over his body, and wondering what had made Harry so frantic, he opened his newly healed eyes. They were still too sensitive to light, but the sun had set considerably and in the twilight he saw gray clouds, saw the muddy mess of the lake, and several blurry shapes coming down the steep sides of the embankment.

His heart raced. People. Not death eaters. Wizards, all of them shouting loudly as they came running. Shouting their names, shouting questions, shouting that he wasn't human.

"Oh dear God no," Severus breathed.

The sensation of side-along apparition washed over Draco, irritating his wounds, and then they were on the floor of the manor's empty hall. Draco hissed at how cold the floor was, hissed again when Harry picked him up. Beside them, Severus groaned and fumbled for the ring on his hand.

"What do we do?" Harry asked, at a complete loss. The adventure was done, and now he wasn't sure how to live with the consequences. "They all saw us. They all—and the castle! And Draco and-"

"Lucius Malfoy," Snape said very deliberately. The ring vanished, and Severus leaned back against the wall, staring at nothing.

They heard Lucius appear somewhere nearby in the manor, and Harry called out when it was obvious Severus wasn't going to. In fact, the potions master tensed as if he was sure he'd be attacked as Lucius ran in.

The head of the family looked around at each of them, and his bewildered expression would have made Harry laugh otherwise. Instead he only felt great relief as Lucius first grasped his ring and summoned Narcissa, then knelt by Draco.

"He'll be fine," Severus said before Lucius could ask. "Physically. Emotionally, we'll have to wait and see. Lucius, we have to-"

"What happened?" Lucius demanded, glancing between Harry and Severus, not sure who was able to tell him.

"We were in Hogwarts-" Harry started.

"That'll wait," Severus cut him off. "We were seen. It was a damn spectacle and we didn't get out before we were seen."

Narcissa appeared in a flurry of lace and silk, already holding her wand at the ready. Breathing in sharply when she saw them, she yelled for her elves and accio'd a blanket.

"Take care of those two," Lucius told her, moving toward Severus as he spoke. "I'll deal with him."

"Lucius," she said, hesitating at the tone of his voice. "Don't-"

"Go," he said sternly. "Now."

Stung by the order, she turned with bent shoulders, covering Draco with the blanket and whispering for him to turn back, that it was safe to change again. This time the sensation of his flesh creeping around felt like deep tissue rippling under his skin, but it didn't hurt and he was glad to have his legs back. Even if Harry was carrying him.

It also meant that he could turn his head slightly and watch as Lucius put his hand on Severus' chin, holding him still as he aimed his wand at his face. For a moment Draco was sure that his father was going to hurt Severus, but after a soft charm, Lucius dropped the wand and held him.

"Relax," Lucius said in exasperation. "I made a promise, didn't I?"

The look of relief and absolute abandonment on Severus' face would have startled Draco if he hadn't felt the same way.

"Talk to me," Narcissa said, cutting into his thoughts. "What happened?"

Sure that she was talking to Harry, Draco listened to his husband's explanation. Most of it he already knew, the search under the castle, Severus arriving, explaining that Dumbledore had arrived—she hissed in anger at that—the underwater classroom and Bellatrix, and then...

"The water started bubbling and turned red. It smelled like blood, and then everything was rumbling and for a moment it was like we were sinking like stones. And then we woke up in the lake and Draco was hurt bad. We healed him, but we were too busy to notice all the people watching."

"I am going to lock you three in the workshop," she swore under her breath. "I'm going to wall you into your room so you can't get out and—ooh, I swear I will rip Dumbledore's head off!"

Draco felt a little stab of panic. In her anger, he couldn't be sure that she wouldn't try any of that, and he needed to recover before she could put any of it into action. Before he could try to get her attention, though, they'd been whisked into the bathroom where Filly had just finished filling the tub with hot water. When he felt Harry sit down on the edge, Draco closed his eyes and hissed as Harry went into the tub, clothes and blanket and all. Only after Harry had settled him comfortably in the corner, folding the blanket behind his head as a pillow, did he begin to gently wash all the mud and grime away.

"You shouldn't take a bath in your clothes," Draco whispered.

"Don't talk," Harry said sternly. "You need to get your strength back before she kills me."

"I'll be fine," Draco said, ignoring the fact that he was letting his eyes close and drowsing in the tub. "Mother won't hurt you and you know it."

"No reason to go tempting fate," Harry said, rising Draco with his damp hands. As he worked, he slowed down, coming to cup Draco's face and staring into his eyes. "You almost died."

Draco didn't respond. He didn't know for sure what had happened in the darkness. He remembered drowning and pain, but why he'd been so badly hurt and why he'd suddenly appeared with them in the lake was a mystery.

"I think I did die," Draco murmured. "For a little while. The castle gave me back."

Harry stared at him, breathing audibly as if he needed to catch his breath. Then he finished cleaning off Draco and finally undressed himself, washing and letting the water go. This time Draco insisted on getting to his feet, groaning as he moved muscles that had been gashed not long ago.

He looked down at himself, looking over the faint marks where the cuts had been. He winced. Although they were still fading, he could see that some of his skin had been torn away in great patches while other wounds had been deep punctures. He lay his hand along one wound and then let it slide away.

The marks matched the spread of his own fingers. He'd done the damage to himself.


	12. Wherein Draco speaks with a dream

Someone was shaking him by the shoulder, rousing him from his sleep. Draco groaned and put his arms over his head, scrunching away from the sunlight pouring in the windows. "Please, just a nap. Just five minutes."

He found himself slumped at the dining room table, leaning against Harry so he wouldn't fall over. The clinking of cups and plates made him think he'd fallen asleep at dinner until he started to sit up. His headache throbbed and the room seemed to spin, and he grabbed the table before he spun with it. Grimacing, he steadied himself and nodded. He remembered now. They'd been explaining what had happened and he'd fallen asleep.

He groaned. No, worse. He was only dressed in his robes and nothing else. How had Harry let him out of the bathroom dressed in nothing more than that? He slid his hand along the seam to make sure the buttons were all closed and felt a little relief.

"You've had fifteen," Lucius said mercilessly, but he conjured up a cup of coffee to match Severus', sliding it to his son. "And we may wish we had those minutes back when we're fighting off aurors."

"Fine," Draco whined, taking the coffee and sipping it through his pout. He winced, grabbed a handful of sugar and dumped it in. "Where'd Potter leave off?"

"At the shaft full of water," Harry said. "When you swam down."

"Right," Draco mumbled. Resting his head on his hand, he closed his eyes and gathered his thoughts. "I went down pretty deep. I wasn't sure what I was doing. It was only when I knew I wouldn't have enough air to get back up that I realized it wanted a sacrifice."

"'It'?" Narcissa echoed.

"The castle," Draco said. "Or the spell. Or...I dunno. I just knew it did. And I started to black out, and it was like I was dreaming. The nightmares. The memories kept going back farther and farther. Never been so far back. And finally I saw...well, I saw her."

"Morgan?" Lucius whispered.

"No," Draco said, shaking his head and regretting it as his headache flared up to a pounding behind his right eye. "Her. The first sacrifice. I was whoever in our family had the knife."

Narcissa and Lucius both sucked in a breath. Beside them, Severus and Harry exchanged a glance. Since they'd never had the nightmares, they could only imagine what that meant to the pureblood dark wizards.

"Filly," Lucius called out, summoning the house elf. When she appeared at his side, he glanced at her. "Bring a pensieve now."

She vanished without a sound.

"Keep going," Lucius said. "What then?"

"She wanted to die," Draco said, a far away look in his eyes. "I saw her so clearly...she reached for the knife when I didn't stab her fast enough."

"To kill you?" Severus asked.

"No," Draco said. "To sacrifice herself. Which told me what I had to do. I woke up drowning, and-"

He paused, frowning. "I'm not sure. But I think all those cuts on me, I think I did that to myself."

Before anyone else could reply, Filly reappeared with the pensieve. She set it on the table, waiting to see if she'd be ordered to do anything else, and then disappeared when no one spoke to her.

Lucius moved the pensieve close to Draco. "Draw out the memory."

Draco grimaced. "I don't have my wand. I can't remember what happened to it."

"It's upstairs, but here," Harry said, offering his. "You can use mine."

Blindly reaching for it, Draco drew back when a thought struck him. "No. No, I think I'd better not. It's a bit too strong for me. I'd end up pulling out my brain."

Severus opened his mouth to comment, but a glare from Narcissa and Lucius made him swallow his sarcasm. Harry and Draco were not the only ones they were angry at.

"Use mine," Narcissa said. "It's far more delicate."

This time Severus couldn't stop himself before a small noise escaped him. He covered it with a cough and looked away, ignoring his husband and wife's looks.

Taking it with a silent nod, Draco held the tip to his temple and brought the memory back to mind. He saw her clearly in his head, shivering, bloody, naked, so much younger than himself, and the silver image flowed out of his mind and into the pensieve. It lay like a pool, shimmering with hints of light, and he offered the wand back to his mother.

"If you don't mind," Lucius said to all of them, "we'll do this as a group to save time. Draco, can you stay awake long enough to keep watch?"

"Sure," Draco nodded. "Just don't take too long?"

He wished his voice didn't go up as he asked, making him sound like a child. Harry patted his shoulder.

"I'll stay with you. You can always show me later."

"Probably best," Narcissa said. "I don't trust the way his eyes are dropping. Maybe he should get to bed?"

"Afterward," Lucius said. "The penalty for causing a mess is cleaning it up."

Damn, but his father knew how to wound without using his hands. Draco turned, barely listening to their spell and looking back only when the three of them were fully absorbed in the memory. Not knowing long it would take, Draco put his head back down on the table.

"You weren't really going to stay up, were you?" Harry chuckled.

"I was," Draco defended himself. "But now you are, so I don't have to."

He felt like he'd barely closed his eyes when he heard heavy knocking, and he bolted upright, patting his robes for his wand before he remembered he didn't have it. There were no other sounds. Then he noticed he wasn't in a chair. Where was he? No longer in the dining room, he found himself lying on the couch in the sitting room. The hearth crackled with a small fire to keep out the chill, and a cover lay over him.

The sun was still out, but just barely, casting dark pinks and faint purples across the window, so he hadn't slept for long. Unless he'd slept for a day and a half. He'd done that in the past, and the exhaustion on him was so heavy that he thought he could probably sleep for a week. But as he listened, he caught the faintest whisper of voices that were rising in volume.

He threw off the cover and sat up, ignoring the cool floor on his bare feet. His wand lay on the side table, and he took it, grateful that Harry had left it out for him. He'd completely forgotten about it in the mad rush of water beneath the school, and it was a relief to have it now as he headed cautiously toward the doorway, looking around the corner. The front door was flung open and, at the end of the stone walkway, the whole Malfoy family stood at the gate, lined up like a small army. Lucius was doing the talking, but Draco couldn't make out whoever he was arguing at.

He didn't want to go out. They hadn't bothered to wake him, so they probably had things under control. And his head and shoulders slumped forward with each step, so heavy that he thought he could topple into the grass and fall asleep. So what if he was a pillar of the dark community? So was the rest of the family. They didn't need him there. He was hardly dressed for it, too.

But then as if Draco had made a noise louder than his father's yelling, Harry turned, spotted him and waved him over. Now that he could pretend he hadn't meant to join them, he huffed and dragged his feet, directing his glower at whoever was on the other side of the gate. He'd started to get an idea of it as Lucius went on, and as he came around, he was certain.

Mended robes, pulled back shoulders, red hair? A Weasley. Arthur stood with his arms crossed, side by side with Remus and Nymphadora and the witch with a patch over one eye. Draco frowned. Some day he really needed to learn her name. He knew he must have heard it before. He just didn't remember.

"This isn't an arrest," Arthur and Remus grumbled together, sounding like they'd said it over and over.

"Yet," Lucius snapped, but he paused to take a breath and they took advantage of the momentary silence.

"Hogwarts is putting itself back together," Remus said. "The bricks are going in piece by piece and we want to know why."

"Magic," Narcissa said simply.

Beside her, Severus lifted his head with an air of innocence. "A wizard did it?"

"You were there when it started," Arthur said to him. "There are witnesses placing you there-"

"A trick, I'm sure," Lucius said. "No doubt they'll change their stories when they've thought about it."

"When you've blackmailed them into changing their story," Nymphadora said. "Dear God, why must you be so paranoid? This could earn them an Order of Merlin and you're acting like they're about to be executed."

"'Order of Merlin'," Severus whispered to himself, wincing as Narcissa smacked him without taking her eyes off of the light wizards. "Right, right...the dark really needs its own award."

"You can't be this stupid," Lucius said. "Even if you were telling the truth, you couldn't be this stupid. Could you?"

Nymphadora and Remus both tensed, eyes flashing with anger, but Arthur was used to the insults and didn't rise to them.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I know what your 'witnesses' are saying," Lucius said, not bothering to mention the spies and sources he'd already drawn upon. "And you won't be luring any of us past the gates. What's wrong? Can't step onto the property to get us?"

"So you're all family?" Remus mused, glancing meaningfully at Severus. "How many taboos does dark magic excuse?"

"Get out of here before you find out," Lucius hissed.

"If what we heard is true," Nymphadora said. "Then you'd better rethink this. The next people coming for Draco won't be people interested in protecting him."

"I don't need protecting," Draco said, annoyed that no one had noticed him standing there by Harry. "The bastards can try to get me here, but no one will be getting past this fence."

The witch with the patch, silent up until now, stared at him as if weighing her options. He didn't make a very impressive sight with no shoes and his robes neckline revealing that he didn't have a shirt on underneath. After apparently dismissing him in her thoughts, she glanced around the yard as if taking a precise measurement.

"You all helped set these new wards," she mused. "No wonder they're so strong. You too, Mr. Potter?"

Harry didn't answer, and she continued as if she had expected that.

"Yes, it would probably take all of us with Dumbledore to get through," she said. "No wonder you haven't run away from here this time. But young Malfoy, you were seen. In your halfblood state."

Draco tilted his head curiously. "Got any pictures?"

"No one had a camera, unfortunately," she said. "But we have pensieve memories."

"Easily faked," Draco said. "Why don't you go tend to the castle before it forgets where exactly to place everything? I'd hate to see Gryffindor tower put on upside down."

"I bet," Harry muttered.

"Is that a possibility?" she asked. "Dark magic can make plants grow upside down as well. You see? This is why we need you there to advise us on what might happen. If dark magic was involved-"

Draco wanted to rip out her other eye. He indulged in a brief daydream as she talked, imagining reaching out, grabbing her face and sliding his fingers into her eye socket the way his hands had done to the dragon, pulling out the eye and pocketing it as an ingredient. Leave him alone. Was that so hard?

"You're so damn smart," he said over her, "go look at the castle yourself."

They were aurors, he thought. Aurors and members of Dumbledore's Phoenix army. And they weren't even going to bother going and looking themselves. No, just assume that it was his magic that had reshaped the castle. Not as if there hadn't been a dark wizard involved in creating the damn place.

"You're the ones that cursed it to move," Arthur said suddenly, tired of arguing. "Did you kill someone down there? Leave a sacrifice to claim the school as your own?"

Lucius moved, almost taking a step past the gate. His fist clenched, and only Narcissa moving in front of him and refusing to let him pass kept him from blindly leaving the safety of their land. He put his hands on her shoulders, his firm resolve not to harm her the only thing keeping him from moving past.

"You wouldn't be so brazen if you thought that was true," Lucius snarled.

"Why not?" Arthur said, ignoring Nymphadora's hand on his arm as she tried to calm him. "You don't have your wand, and the last time you couldn't even swing a real punch-"

The crack startled all of them. The sudden flurry of black cloth hid what happened, but then Narcissa had yanked Severus back with all her weight and the aurors were catching Arthur as he stumbled backward. One hand over the bruise already growing under his fingers, Arthur grimaced as Nymphadora and the witch pushed him back to his feet.

Narcissa grunted as she landed on her posterior, still hanging onto Severus who was shaking the pain from his hand. He shrugged her off and went to stand, only to find himself drawn up short as she drove her wand down through his robe into the earth.

"'Cissa-" he growled warningly, his hand already going for the robe's clasp.

"Get up and you'll regret it forever," Narcissa snarled. She pulled her wand free and aimed it at him. "I haven't forgiven you yet-"

"How dare you-" Nymphadora yelled over her, held back by the other witch. "You foolish, self-destructive—we were here to help you, dammit-"

"It seems we need your help as much as I need to fight like a muggle," Lucius said, shouting her down. "Take this warning back to your masters. Anyone trying to harm me or my own will find their lives ruined. If your damned Ministry comes for any of us, they won't make it to the manor alive."

"So the masks come off?" Arthur demanded, giving a bitter snort. "Threats and promising to murder us-"

"If you hadn't noticed," Lucius said in a voice dripping with scorn. "We're outnumbered. Badly. And bad things happen to dark wizards when you lot get high and righteous."

He snapped his fingers and the gate slammed shut, nearly catching the witch in the face. From between the bars, Lucius regarded them like a maddened caged animal. The reactions of the aurors ranged from surprise to disdain, but Remus watched with cold calculation.

"How long?" Remus asked.

Lucius didn't respond.

"How long do you plan on keeping your family imprisoned like this?" Remus pressed. "You might as well be locking them in Azkaban yoursel-"

"When you have languished inside that hellhole," Lucius said, his voice soft and biting, "then you can talk about prisons."

He turned, his robes billowing, and swept back toward the manor. Draco looked between his father and the aurors, Arthur's grim frown and Nymphadora's exasperation. He felt his mother leave with Severus, although his master muttered something that made her sigh again and pull him toward the house.

"I don't suppose you'd see reason," Remus said, more to Harry than Draco. "Or are you completely on their side now?"

"I can trust them," Harry said simply. The meaning was obvious—he couldn't trust the aurors.

"And you?" Arthur said to Draco, refusing to leave until he exhausted all possibilities. "You've been more willing to try than both our communities combined. I daresay that if you stopped trying, our two sides would be at war again."

Draco put his arms around himself, leaning against Harry and warmed when his husband put an arm around him, covering him in his robe. This was how he wanted to stay forever, sheltered under the arm of the world's most powerful wizard and safe on their own land. Not guilted into acting against his father.

"I've been trying to change England's mind about us," Draco said softly. "But if I step past this fence, you could throw me into Azkaban for something I was born with."

He shrugged and started to turn away, glancing over his shoulder once before letting Harry walk him inside.

"You say we've given Hogwarts back to you," Draco said. "Then get rid of Azkaban."

The one-eyed witch gasped. "That's impossible!"

"So was rebuilding Hogwarts," Draco said, as implacable as steel. "Destroy your prison. Doesn't mean you wouldn't burn us at the stake or something, but at least it'd be a step."

"But there are so many criminals inside," she kept arguing. "We couldn't just let them out. We'd have to find places to house them—the dementors would need a new place-"

"Please excuse the fact that I don't care," Draco said, walking away again. "You want to talk? Get rid of that damn place."

If they replied, he didn't hear them. He and Harry went back inside, and Draco steered them down the hall toward their bedroom. His bed had never looked so welcoming despite how crooked the posts were, how haphazard their makeshift curtains were. He started unbuttoning his robe and let it slide off his shoulders, ignoring Harry's snort as his husband picked up the pile of clothes.

"Jus' leave it for Filly," Draco slurred in exhaustion. He fell onto the bed and crawled onto his usual side, head finally resting on a cool pillow.

"You know they're going to come back, right?" Harry said. "Them, or others. And it'll be more of them."

As Harry climbed in behind him, putting an arm around his side, Draco groaned low in his chest as if the thought of it caused him pain.

"Then all more reason I need sleep now," he said.

"Draco, you can't just-"

Draco huffed and sat up on one elbow, glaring at him over his shoulder. Stupid Gryffindor addiction to adventure, he figured. Some things couldn't be cured, but it could at least be stifled for a few hours.

"There comes a time," he grumbled, "when the idiot who nearly died to save a stupid school gets to sleep. Wake me up when the bastards get here. Otherwise let me sleep!"

He flopped down, intent on ignoring Harry's protests and feeling a little foolish when his husband didn't argue. Somehow, though he was exhausted, his body refused to fall asleep. He curled up and pushed his face into the pillow.

"Sorry," he said, his voice muffled. "M'tired."

"I noticed," Harry said, but there was no anger in his voice. He sat down and stroked Draco's hair. "I'll stay here with you for awhile, then go help your father, all right?"

"S'fine," Draco mumbled, and if Harry said anything else, he was asleep before he heard it.

Sleep passed in a jumble of memories stumbling over each other. Again he dove deep into the strange shaft beneath Hogwarts, trailed by Bellatrix' sickly green spells following him like falling stars. When he could no longer breathe, the dark water became the black night sky and all her spells became snowflakes, and once again he was flying on his broom with his home burning behind him. Somehow he knew he was still flying down into water even though he was in the sky, and when he turned to look over his shoulder, he saw not his broom but his tail.

Not flying but swimming, he effortlessly cut through the water now, no longer struggling to hold his breath but taking in the water as easily as air. As long moments passed, the water turned thick and smelled of iron, and he drew to a halt, wondering how deep the shaft went. He'd been diving for hours now and still no sign of the bottom.

When he turned around to see how far he'd come, the light from above was red. Blood, he realized. He was swimming through blood.

"They're coming to kill you all. Now."

At the strange voice, he turned. He was no longer in the shaft of blood. Standing in the midst of great darkness that stretched infinitely in all directions, he faced the same young girl who had demanded the knife from him. Nothing had changed about her since the dream—she was still covered in deep gashes and rents that left her bones visible and revealed her heart, now quiet in her chest.

Draco frowned. "How-?"

Her fingertip touched his mouth, silencing him, and he tensed as she watched him. This girl was no longer human, and he wondered if she'd sacrificed more than just her life to be able to stand here like this.

"They will kill you all soon," she said.

He waited for her to continue, but she only stared at him.

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to think through her words. "I know the ministry will try to lock me up, but outright kill me? Why?"

"They always come to kill us," she said.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Who is us?"

"Me," she said simply. "Morgan le Fey. Voadicea. Isobel Gowdie. Thomas Farriner. Others. Sacrifices. There are times our people hang by one of us as a thread, and we must commit sacrifice."

Commit suicide, he thought, but he wasn't about to question her logic out loud. A powerful taboo had been broken when she died, and it had saved the dark community. Now he had a similar choice, but he didn't like her solution.

The ministry was coming for him. Her words left little doubt in his mind. They would arrest him for the sin of necromancy, of mixing a human spirit with an animal spirit into his halfblood body, and nevermind that he was born like that. And when the Malfoys refused to let them take him, they would all die.

No, he realized. They won't wait for us to resist. They'll just say we did and kill us anyway.

"Even if I made the sacrifice, they'll destroy my family," he said.

"They will kill you soon," she said. "They will be here soon."

"Stop telling me the same thing," he demanded, refusing to panic about the would-be murderers on their way. "What should I do?"

"Dark lord," she said. "Your enemy is coming."

"How?" he said. His voice rose as he grew frustrated. This was no longer just a dream and he gave her words all the weight of a holy saint, but his devotion was useless if she wouldn't tell him anything. "If there's more than I can handle, it won't matter-"

"You must," she said. She looked over her shoulder again and nodded as if listening to someone he couldn't hear. When she turned her attention back to him, she stared quietly at him for several seconds until he started to wonder if she was going to tell him anything else, or if she expected him to speak.

Then she cupped her hands by her breasts, opened her mouth wide and blood poured down into her hands. Draco stared in horror. She was not vomiting but rather she was a fountain, and when she closed her mouth, she held her hands up to him. Her expectation was obvious, and to refuse...

"Dark magic," his father had once said, "is a lover that'll do wonderful things for you, but take it for granted and it will kill you."

He didn't hesitate, bending down to put his lips to her hands, accepting her blood.

He woke up with the tang of iron on his tongue. A rough scratch on his cheek told him that he'd bitten himself in his sleep, and he wondered what he'd been dreaming of. It also called up to mind the last time he'd tasted blood, specifically the kraken's, and with a sense of urgency and growing dread he rose out of bed, spelled on his clothes and was all but running down the hall, into the spartan study.

His family looked up as he came in, Lucius at the desk that dominated the room, his mother and master standing at either side, Harry at the small row of dark artifacts that had survived the explosion. They all looked tense but frustrated, unsure of how to act. Lucius had a line of messages to go out, blackmail probably, but his father hesitated at sending it, and neither Severus nor Narcissa knew how to advise him. All of them looked pale from exhaustion, and the moonlight and candles only highlighted the shadows moving around the room.

Draco glanced around. Despite being modeled after the last manor, this room felt hollow. The bookshelves were empty—years were required to build up a proper library. But he didn't need any books here. The only one he needed had been kept safe his whole life.

"Mother," he said, ignoring everyone else for the moment. "I need you to use your diary."

Her eyes widened. "My...what?"

"I'm not really sure how I know," he said. "But I need you to find out which of our half sirens are still in England."

She stared at him for a long moment, deep consternation obvious in her eyes. The witches of dark families had their own secrets that the men were never privy to for a multitude of reasons. To admit to one, let alone reveal it and use it front of them, was a terrible breach of their rules. But Draco had asked, and for Draco, she denied nothing.

Gingerly, as if afraid the pages would crumble in her hands, she drew out the palm-sized journal and undid the latch, opening it as she took the pen from the spine. In the candlelight, the gilded edges sparkled like gold. She wrote the question and waited.

"It usually takes a few minutes," she said softly.

"What is that?" Harry asked, not understanding the weight of what he was asking.

She glanced at him, then at Lucius and Severus. "Something from long ago," she said, almost daring Lucius to challenge her. "To help us survive whenever the men become foolish."

In the silence that followed, Draco wondered if his father would push the issue. The family was not supposed to hold secrets from him, after all. But Lucius half-smiled and leaned back in his chair, apparently happy to have the chance to put down his quill and think of something besides war.

"I'd wondered how the wives and daughters seemed to know my orders before even the dark lord did," he said. "So the Knights of Walpurgis have a second half?"

Relaxing a little when he didn't snap at her, she let herself smile. "I'm not allowed to say," she whispered.

Before he could respond, a scratching sound came from the diary. She opened it up, and they all visibly restrained themselves from looking over her shoulder.

"Damiana Vetch," she said, reading one set of handwriting. "May Cardamon. And...Jillian Tavisham, age seven. Oh Draco no-"

"It's all right," Draco said before she could protest. "I don't want children on this. Please tell them to come to Safernoc forest, the meeting place. From there we're going to Hogwarts."

"Why back there?" she demanded over everyone else as they all began speaking. "It's too dangerous now-"

"That's exactly why we have to," Draco said. "They're coming to kill us even now. But if we manage this, we could turn everything back on them."

"What?" Lucius said, standing up. "Who? From where? When?"

"I don't know," Draco said. "Accio knife, accio jar."

The familiar potions tools appeared on the desk, and he used the knife to gash his arm, pouring his blood into the jar. Only Harry gasped, not used to impromptu blood lettings, but his parents grew increasingly concerned as he continued to bleed out, his blood gleaming like darkly red river. He had to estimate the amount, but when Severus made a motion to stop him, he shied out of his master's reach and then healed himself, wincing as the sticenia sealed his wound.

"I'm sorry I don't have time," he said, putting the knife to his hair and cutting off several uneven locks. "I hope I'll get to come back and explain all this. If not...I'm sorry I won't be here, Harry."

"What?" Harry breathed.

Draco felt a stab of guilt at the stricken look on his husband's face. They'd been married for less than a year, and to see it coming to an end made him sick to his stomach. Especially since he'd have the easy part of it. Harry would have to live a long wizard's life without him. Once again, as always, Draco played the coward's part. Time...he was barely an adult and he was already out of time.

Leaving enough of his blood and hair behind for Severus to make a child, Draco apparated away.

Safernoc forest at night was a foreboding place to be, even for dark wizards. He looked around himself to be sure he was alone. Moonlight came through the tree branches, and the cold bite in the air reminded him of a snowy night years ago. Once again, he was on his way to Hogwarts.

He hoped he would come back.


	13. Wherein we discover the source of Hogwarts' power

Two soft swirls of air rustled the fallen leaves. From beneath the hood of his cloak, Draco glanced up and spotted May and Damiana standing side by side across the clearing. The girls looked around, clutching their brooms as they edged close together, and he realized they couldn't see him against the black trees and brambles.

With a sense that he was stepping onto a grand stage, he stood and walked toward them, coming into the moonlight. They both startled back, then breathed out in relief when they recognized him.

"Why are we here?" May whispered, holding her broom as if she wanted to fly away. "It's the middle of the night."

"The night used to be when we did all our magic," Draco said, and for a moment he frowned at them, not sure what was wrong. When it came to him, he laughed lightly at himself. "I don't suppose either of you brought a mask?"

"A mask?" Damiana echoed. "What for?"

"It's all right," he said, reaching into his cloak for the potions knife. "I didn't think to bring one either."

The wind threw leaves up around him, cool and sharp edged, and he had the distinct feeling that the forest was alive, was breathing all around him. Breathing deep, tasting the air, he looked up at the moon between the branches. The forest felt like home, like he had only to find his den within a hollow beneath a tree, slip under the roots and nestle among the soft dirt and leaves. The dark magic within him sang in tune with the night. Was it her blood that had done this for him? Or was it his own magic finally coming into its own? He felt as if he finally had some control over his own life. Perhaps this was how a proper, brave wizard was supposed to feel.

"Draco..." May said slowly, looking to Damiana for reassurance. "Are you all right?"

"I'm not insane, if that's what you're wondering," he said, tearing his attention from the stars, and with his knife he nicked his finger. "No. I asked because we're going on a night ride, the first proper night ride in probably twenty years."

"You are mad," Damiana said. "We can't do that. There's finally peace-"

"There was never peace," Draco said, voice tinged with bitterness. "They were working against me the whole time. It's just now they finally showed their hand."

Letting the blood well up on his skin, he used it to draw the rune raido on his face, a long rune that went from his forehead to his jaw in two lines, one bent on his cheek. Handing the knife to May, he began to explain while she, despite her doubts, made her own cut and drew a similar character on her own face.

"I can't explain all of it right now," he said. "What you need to know is this—Fudge and his loyal followers are advancing toward my house right now, intent on killing my family. Now they won't be able to get in, not for a long time, but we can't hold them off forever and the rest of the community isn't as strongly protected. And it's your families, and the rest of our community, that need us to do this raid."

"What are we going to do?" Damiana asked, taking the knife from May and drawing the rune. "Who do we kill?"

"Their past," Draco said. "Their beautiful, idealized, perfect past where they were the heroes, and we were the monsters. We're going to show them that they're just as rotten and dirty as we are."

"I don't get it," May said, finishing the rune and handing back the knife. "What are we attacking?"

"And why are we waiting around?" Damiana demanded. "If they're all in danger, we should go now."

"We're going to Hogwarts," Draco said. "And we're waiting on something I couldn't easily conjure. We'll go as soon as it gets —ah, here it is now."

Something blurred by, and somehow Draco caught it, spun with it and held it tight as he swung one leg up on his besom. The ancient broom brought him up into the air, steadying as he put both hands on on the stick and leaned back, sitting on it like a rearing horse. The white flowers that once covered it had fallen away with the passing seasons, leaving him the twisting brown vines that curled around his hand and around his foot, holding him in place.

"Follow me and stay close," he ordered them. "We'll have to stay low so no one sees us, and you never know what's in the Forbidden Forest."

"Sure we know," Damiana said, hopping on her own broom sidesaddle. "Didn't they always say it was full of dark wizards?"

Regaining some of her confidence, May smiled as she straddled her broom. "And tonight...it is."

As they rose up above the branches, Draco grinned. Already he felt the nervous joy of setting out to cause mischief. How could his parents have ever given this up? Holding tight to his broom, he leaned into the wind and set out.

To his relief, the girls kept pace with him, staying at his heels or his shoulders, never falling back but that they put on a new burst of speed and drew even. Neither of them were used to long, sustained flights, especially at night and never so close to the trees. The tips of the branches whipped at their dresses, sending leaves up behind them, and though he was afraid someone might notice, he said nothing as they flew lower and lower just to enjoy hearing the twigs pop and snap. They could all die that night. Best to let them have their fun.

If only they could have apparated, but with Hogwarts slowly waking up, there was no way of knowing when the castle wards would rise or worse, how far those wards spread. Was the Forbidden Forest part of the castle grounds? And what kind of perimeter warnings had Fudge put across the landscape? Apparition was so easily blocked, but Fudge wouldn't want to block him. Fudge would want to know where he was and then close in on him.

No. Like before, the only way to deceive the Ministry, which could track spells with amazing precision, was their dark wandless magic, the ancient magic born from their blood. The one thing the Ministry did not own was their bodies. Instead of casting a few spells on themselves, charms to keep them on their broom if they fell asleep or ran into a flock of birds, the traveler's rune on their faces would sustain them through the long night.

After awhile he felt his hand cramping up. He frowned and forced himself to release the grip he had on his besom. The old wound hadn't flared up in ages, but an hour or two on the broom brought back memories of his snowy flight and the terrible bloody mess of his hand. But at least there was no snow, and his hand didn't shake and go numb, and he wasn't in danger of throwing up, and he knew his family was safe, at least for the moment.

Trusting the night to hold him, Draco sat up on the besom, barely holding himself upright with one hand, and let his hand dangle at his side. The ground and forest flew by in great patches, as if the land was a huge quilt stitched together with roads and small houses. They passed windows glowing gold as people moved around inside, passed chimneys puffing smoke, and underneath them were muggle cars slipping in and out of the trees like fish in an ocean.

To their credit, May and Damiana did not complain about the long trip, flying silently at his side. He glanced at them now and then to reassure himself that they hadn't given up, but Damiana looked like a soldier intent on a mission, and May followed Damiana faithfully. Their long black hair flew in the wind, glossy in the moonlight like raven feathers.

A deep sense of loneliness washed over Draco. The girls at his side were silent, and he wanted Harry at his side. He wondered if he hadn't acted too rashly. His family he'd left behind, setting out with two dark witches he hardly knew, fully knowing that if he died, it would be without anyone who knew him, utterly alone. Above him, the cold stars sparkled out of reach, little dots in a deep void, and all that kept him from sinking was the night wind buffeting him from below.

The thought that he might die refused to leave him. His friends were all scattered now, Pansy and Thomas over the sea, dorm-mates now just acquaintances. Crabbe and Goyle, he hadn't seen in ages. His family and Harry was all he had. To lose them, to be without them for a moment, left him empty inside.

He hoped if he died that he became a ghost so he could float after Harry forever. Watch him live. Lay down beside him in bed.

Immersed in his imagination, he only noticed that the sky was turning gray when he saw an owl swoop down beside him and into the branches, looking to settle in for the day. Startled from his reverie, he looked around and noticed the stars winking out, and found May and Damiana keeping pace with him automatically, their eyes half shut as they followed like sleepy birds in formation.

And there was the castle looming ahead at last. Raising his hand, he signaled to the girls to slow down and come in cautiously. As dangerous as it was to do so, he kept them low to the forest and trusted them to keep a lookout for acromantulas, paranoid centaurs and anything else the forest could think to throw at them, and in the meantime he took them closer to Hogwarts, warily watching for any hint of movement on the castle grounds.

To his dismay, he found the castle to be a hive of activity. Rather than the abandoned ruin it had been for months, now wizards and witches buzzed around it like bees, watching and cataloging as the castle rearranged itself slowly, its stones groaning with the effort.

"Down," he whispered, and they sank into the treeline, hiding amongst the branches.

"Now what?" Damiana asked.

Draco didn't answer immediately, studying the way the wizards milled about on the grounds, a few of them venturing inside the castle and then running out as the walls nearly flattened them as the stones moved around. One by one, each stone rolled up over another and locked into place as the Gryffindor tower began to take form again.

"Figures it'd fix the Gryffindor part first," Draco muttered. "All right then. What we need is a distraction. A good, long distraction."

"Any spell we cast, they can track back here," May argued.

"No problem," Draco said. "We'll just have to give them something else to think about for awhile. Have either of you ever cast a crawenen?"

"A plain old crow spell?" Damian asked. "That won't last longer than a minute or two."

"Oh, it will," Draco said. "It's just a matter of how much you put into it. I'll do it. Your job will be singing the water back out of part of the castle."

They both glanced at each other, but neither of them argued.

Draco took out his knife again. The idea in his brain was only half-baked, a memory of standing with the first sacrifice, lifting his hand to make the cut. The image of her bleeding, naked body grew clearer in his mind, rent with gashes so deep they cut to the bone. The cuts let her cast a spell without a wand, using a magic more primal and almost uncontrollable, and in the same way he'd known about his mother's diary, he knew that the sacrifice's cuts had not been simple slices. The cuts had shaped the magic, crafting it through her skin, and after long centuries, Draco finally understood what it meant. The wand shaped magic, but his blood...blood _was_ magic.

Wincing, he carved the rune ehwaz into his palm, suddenly wondering if this was why runes were made with straight lines. Scratching circles into skin would've been nearly impossible, especially if he was slashing himself. Blood streaked his arm in rivulets and disappeared in his sleeve.

"If I ever come up with a new form of magic," Draco whispered in a tight voice, "I'm going to base it on candy and sugar."

"And then we'll all be fat," May muttered, squawking when Damiana nudged her hard. "What? It's true."

Ignoring them, Draco closed his eyes and summoned the image of a crow in his mind — large body, ragged wings with dark rainbows in the feathers, huge beaks that promised violence. Remembered the feeling of Harry's magic traveling through him, the sheer power and immensity of his spells. Most of all, he told himself that he didn't have to be as strong as Harry. The dark magic would be happy to feed off whatever he gave it.

"Crawenen," he whispered.

In a violent flurry of black and red, a flock of crows erupted out of the wound, a mass of birds that became a thick shadow in the sky and blew around their heads so that their wings swayed the trees as if in a storm. Draco winced and turned his head away, holding his wrist as it felt like his skin was crawling. Their wingtips brushed his face, their cawwing drowned every other noise, and with his head turned, he spotted Damiana beside him, hands clapped over her ears, her shoulder turned to protect her face.

Draco's sight blurred. Clenching his hand suddenly, he pressed it against his stomach and doubled over on it, protecting the wound that he just realized was on his weak hand. Laughing at his recklessness, he wondered what Severus would say if he was there. Re-opening his wound, trying to get himself killed, trying to drown in dark magic...

He felt the magic creeping in around the edges, the tangible shadows waiting to devour him. No wonder dark wizards didn't cast magic like this. Far too dangerous, relying solely on blood. But then the first sacrifice had done a similar trick, using all of her blood, and he knew she was still around somehow. Perhaps she hadn't truly died but fallen into darkness, and perhaps he could do that, too. If he didn't really die, he could be better than a ghost for Harry. He could stay with him forever, just on the edge of touching him-

"There they go!" Damiana laughed. "Now's our chance!"

Chased away by the thick mass of crows, the ministry wizards dashed to safety, blinking away with portkeys or simply running for the shelter of the forest or the few structures on the grass, diving into the green houses, Hagrid's hut, and discovering the great holes smashed into them during the war. The way lay open for just a moment, and Draco motioned for the girls to follow. As one, they flew from the trees not toward the main doors but to the muddy crater of the empty lake.

At the base of the castle, far below the Slytherin common room window, a giant section of the wall had been smashed out, and the bricks lay scattered out into the mud. Tentatively Draco drew close, aware that this must have been the chamber he had been trapped in. How had he escaped, and how had this wall exploded? Harry and Severus? He couldn't tell. He'd been unconscious, waking only as they healed him out here, and he spotted a part of mud that glistened redly, and dozens of footprints crisscrossing around the imprint of his distinct wyvern outine.

"That," Draco said, nodding at the shattered turret. "The lake is in there. We have to call it out."

"So deep," May whispered. "I...Draco, this might be beyond us-"

"Then we die here," he said mercilessly. "Those ravens won't last a moment more. If we can't get those wizards' attention fast and hold them, they'll cut us down."

"You're asking the impossible," Damiana gasped. "Oh God, Draco, what have you done? This isn't even sacrifice, it's just suici-"

"Sing!" he ordered, whirling on them with an angry, piercing stare. "You want to live? Then sing!"

Not wasting time with explanations, simply demanding their obedience, he drew his wand and began to cast his own spell, guiding his wand in a rough circle that left a furrow in the mud as if dug by an invisible hand. It spread out around them and runes appeared at the edges, crafted line by line as he sang each part. Primitive, little more than lines scratched by a child's fingertip, the circle closed and filled with rivulets of brown water.

The girls began to sing, their voices mingled perfectly, and they clasped their hands to better feel each other's rhythm. At first there was no sign that they were having any effect, but then the broken wall began to glisten damply, followed by small trickles that grew stronger and stronger.

They would need time to summon up everything in that chamber. Draco took a deep breath, hoping he could give them that time.

"On an altare af feld en mudde  
ic kalla eow to mi  
wæter'ed wid mi bodig's blod,  
blæc eorth tæt, drincan mi lif."

The sung spell already left him light-headed with the effort, and with each word, the dark magic gathered inside him. How long had it been since he cleansed the darkness from himself? How thick had it gathered already?

"Setten on en altare af stonen  
ic kalla eow to mi  
fedan wid brecan bræth en bans  
mi spellan becuman mi knif."

He wondered how much of the old language May and Damiana knew, and if they knew what he was saying. Dark magic had a mind of its own. The circle could swallow them up if it chose, but he didn't think it would take the girls. Their song held no trace of dark magic, borne purely of siren blood, and as they grasped each other's hands, heads down, voices raised, their concentration was all on the lake. As far as his spell was concerned, they didn't exist.

"Mi knif's ecg bid mi sang  
se open peine mi oper  
ic kalla eow to mi  
blæc blod af se pass."

Voices.

Shouting voices.

Ministry voices—out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw them coming back, surrounded by the smoldering feathers of his destroyed ravens. The wizards had been chased nearly to the far side of the lake, and they struggled to pull their feet step by step out of the muck. None of them had brooms, all of them so intent on studying what Draco and Harry had done here that they hadn't thought to bring anything beyond their wands.

One of them flickered. The outline of her body rippled and turned small, and now she was a small blur bounding lightly over the ground toward him. Draco narrowed his eyes. Animagus. Behind her, the other witches and wizards stopped and took aim.

Spell after spell charged toward him, splashing against the barrier of his circle. May and Damiana winced and huddled close, heads bowed, their eyes squeezed impossibly tight. Draco leaned down, one hand digging into the mud, as the blast of each spell passed over him, blowing his hair into his eyes.

"...ic kalla eow to mi  
blæc blod af se pass..."

He did not stop chanting. As he spoke, the words were not his own. He didn't know where they came from, only a deep sense that he'd said them before, that he had been here in this field

-but it was a lake-

and the patriarchs of the dark families stood ready to kill him

-but it was only May and Damiana-

and they had to work fast, because Merlin was coming with the sunrise just over that hill.

No. Merlin was dead, even if his damn Ministry lived on. The magic was playing tricks on him. Draco shook his head and focused again, the chant still on his lips, along with flecks of blood.

He'd dreamed about the first sacrifice, he knew that much. Now he wondered what the bitch had done to him in his sleep when he couldn't properly think and fight back. He had the distinct feeling that he had been tricked into something.

Without the ritual cleansing, dark magic gathered inside him and dug in like cold claws, the black excess already blotting his skin. He breathed out black mist and still he sang, cramps creeping into his body. Vanity made him shrug his hood low so no one would see his face.

Just a little longer...all he had to do was not fall over until the girls-

Like a waterfall, the lake lapped over the deep crack in the wall and spilled over, a cascade of clear water that quickly pooled around them and began to spread.

At first the cold water was only a nuisance, splashed around their shoes as if someone had toppled a wine glass, and Draco felt small surprise that the water wasn't blood. It spread in a broad circle, sweeping farther across the lake bed, and the Ministry wizards backed up, balking at touching it. Like a mirror, it reflected the gray morning in a long silver streak.

"Draco Malfoy!"

He glanced sideways. The cat animagus had turned back, a woman on all fours mired in mud that couldn't support her sudden weight.

"Malfoy!" she cried out. "Whatever you're doing, stop! You're killing it! You're killing it!"

Her words jolted him. Did they know what lay at the bottom of that shaft? Was the Ministry so hypocritical that they knew and still condemned the dark? Or did she just think that they were attacking it? Did the ministry know as little about Hogwarts as the dark?

Either way, his resolve hardened. If he stopped now, everything fell apart. Their only hope was to keep going. He caught May and Damiana watching him, their gaze flitting from the Ministry to him.

 _Keep going..._ He pushed the thought into their minds, unable to stop chanting. _Don't stop. Don't stop on your life._

In desperation and the bubbling exhilaration of the ministry's spells flying uselessly past, their voices raised in pitch and time, singing faster and faster. The water pouring out became a violent torrent, pulling loose bricks from the mortar and tossing them casually on the ground. White froth churned the mud and drove the other wizards back, including the animagus who changed back into a cat and turned tail. Heavy waves crashed around them, a whirlpool that crept up their legs, and Draco realized that he hadn't thought of this obvious outcome. He had the absurd thought that they were going to drown because he hadn't considered that if the lake filled up, they'd be at the bottom.

Until May and Damiana shifted their feet, a kind of dance step of placing one foot down and turning it to one side, a quick pivot on the mud that brought them up several inches, standing on the water's surface. To Draco's relief, he found the water turning solid like ice beneath him, and he followed their lead, climbing the lake like stairs growing beneath himself.

Considering how vast the lake actually was, Draco was shocked at how quickly the girls summoned it back, drawing more and more of the water from beneath the castle. No longer clear, the water was thick with sand, plants, bones, and a darkly green slime that floated away in ribbons, erupting out of Hogwarts as if the castle were vomiting.

"Fedan wid brecan bræth en bans  
mi spellan becuman mi knif-"

Something stabbed him from the side. With a pained groan, he collapsed to one knee, bending sharply, and pressed his hand against his side. Blood welled up between his fingers, trickling down his wrist. Farther away he heard low cries as the wizards saw him struggling, and new spells crashed against the circle, still impenetrable despite being increasingly underwater. Dragging in a tight breath, Draco looked down at his side, searching for the wound. Instead he found unbroken skin and black ichor pouring across his hands.

A red spell flashed by, rippling against the weakening circle. Stooped like a fairytale dark wizard, Draco resumed the chant, his voice hoarse and choked.

"Mi knif's ecg...ecg bid mi sang, se...se...se..."

Bones came over the edge of the bricks just as black blood poured out of Draco's mouth. Panic and pain drove him to both knees, and he groaned in agony. The girls stopped singing, shocked at the dark magic spilling out of him. The chant fell apart. The circle fell, leaving them exposed to Ministry spells.

But none came—the Ministry wizards were too stunned at what they saw. Like a patient disgorging a deep sickness, Hogwarts no longer needed the siren song, and bones and skulls came out of the castle in a great rush, floating on the surface and spreading out across the lake. The waterfall made the only sound, more a clacking of bones now than actual water. Hundreds spilled out, a followed by the body of a man in a death eater's robe. Then a second, and then Bellatrix, obvious because of her hair and her robes even if her face had begun to bloat.

Softly she bobbed on the water, her eyes wide open and staring at Draco, and he felt a deep wrenching pain in his heart. To turn against blood, betraying her for the Ministry of all people...

The siren magic failed and the water under him softened like melting ice. The girls were gone—when had they abandoned him? As he slipped backwards, he tried to straighten out, to float on his back, but agony flared up throughout his whole body. His stomach felt like one long opened wound as if someone had taken a hook and dragged it down his front, and he wrapped his arms around himself, curling up and sinking as the water slowly became water again.

Turning his face to the sky, he took one last breath and then slipped beneath the surface.

Sithenes sceandu kasta an niht ic dragan, heonon ren an cleonsian min sawol. The words ran through his head like a useless antidote. They were no good in his head—he couldn't perform the cleansing ritual, and the darkness swallowed him more than the water. In a few moments he would melt away into his own magic, nothing more than another ribbon of black ichor in the lake.

An arm slipped under him, hauled him up and then dragged him over something narrow and hard. He was shifted around and turned so that he was sitting up, leaning against someone's shoulder. A warm feeling spread over him. Not only did he know that shoulder, but he recognized the person's scent, something unnameable that he could only call comfortable and intimate.

"-hear me? Draco, say something—tell me anything. Call me Scarhead—"

He would have smiled if not for the pain. Really? He was dying and Harry wanted him to waste those last few breaths calling him old names? If only he could see him...but it felt like he was crying black tears that dripped down his face. Sad that Harry had to see him like this.

Harry landed the broom roughly and held Draco, gently putting him on the grass. Draco groaned and turned on his side, curling with his arms around his waist, caught between the relief of his husband being there and the pain blossoming all across his body. Something hard touched his cheek, the tip of a wand he realized, and he frowned. A shame he couldn't tell him how useless it was to try.

"Sithenes sceandu kasta an niht ic dragan," Harry started, and his voice sounded far away, muffled in cotton. "Heonon ren an cleonsian eower sawol."

Draco smiled. Harry's hand was warm, smoothing back his hair and then resting on his forehead. If this was how he had to die, there were worse ways. As his husband kept up the cleansing charm, Draco felt the overwhelming sense of floating in warm nothingness, sinking into a cloud at night, and all the pain faded away.

His father could use this. Draco Malfoy, martyred at Hogwarts while saving the castle and cleansing it of ancient sacrifices, unfairly persecuted by the Ministry... Yes, his family would mourn, but the dark wizards would survive. And maybe they'd build a statue to him. His thoughts turned incoherent. A holiday, Martyr's Day, and wyvern shaped fireworks...

The hot spike ramming down his stomach dragged him back into cruel reality. Magic jolted straight through him, impaling him so that he arched his back, digging his fingers into the dirt. He tried to scream but shock knocked the breath out of him, and he couldn't breathe in again. Frantically he turned on his side, then on all fours, holding himself up as he coughed violently. Something was coming up his throat—

"Get rid of it," Harry said over him, putting an arm around his waist to hold him up. "Come on, get rid of it."

Still coughing, Draco forced out mouthfuls of wet black globs that splattered the grass and then sank into the ground. Dark magic slid off his skin, dripping down his hair and face. His right arm buckled, and he sank on his shoulder, trembling as he felt like ice. Harry gathered him up on his lap, face down, hand on his back. With short, painful breaths, Draco closed his eyes and let the grass tips brush his cheek.

In horrible realization, he remembered just how powerful Harry could be when he needed. And how merciless.

There was a brief moment of silence, a soft stroke on his back. Draco slowly grew aware of the sound of feet shuffling awkwardly around them, the mutters of wizards overhead.

"Mr. Potter..." someone said above them. "Is he...they...what were they doing?"

"Trying to help," Harry said without hesitation. If he was sure of that or just bluffing, Draco wasn't sure.

"Merlin..." someone else whispered. "What is all that? Bones? Why was it in the castle?"

"Please," Harry said. "He's not safe yet. Can I apparate out of here? I need water but..."

But he needed clean water, and the lake didn't feel clean. He gathered Draco up in his arms, the blonde head resting heavily on his shoulders, and held him as if his husband might melt away as well. Harry let his voice trail off, casting a look at the lake. A layer of bones lay on the surface, floating and occasionally sinking down. There were enough to stretch out of sight on a vast watery field that, in the slow sunrise, flashed a glaring red.

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's Sacrifice Summoning:
> 
> on an altare af feld en mudde  
> ic kalla eow to mi  
> wæter'ed wid mi bodig's blod,  
> blæc eorth tæt, drincan mi lif
> 
> setten on en altare af stonen  
> ic kalla eow to mi  
> fedan wid brecan bræth en bans  
> mi spellan becuman mi knif
> 
> mi knif's ecg bid mi sang  
> se open peine mi oper  
> ic kalla eow to mi  
> blæc blod af se pass
> 
> English Translation:
> 
> on an altar of field and mud  
> I summon you to me  
> water'ed with my body's blood,  
> black earth that drank my life
> 
> set on an altar of stone  
> I summon you to me  
> fed with broken breath and bones  
> my spell becomes my knife
> 
> my knife's edge is my song  
> the open pain my strength  
> I summon you to me  
> black blood of the past


	14. Wherein the dark community flees England

Draco woke to the strange smells of cooking meat, grease, an unfamiliar and harsh chemical scent, and ashes. The light was harsh, glaring all around him, but a moment later the light dimmed and the soft glow of fire sparked in front of him. His head felt like lead, muffled like cotton, and he raised himself only with the greatest effort.

"Oh, he's awake," someone said. A moment passed before he recognized his husband's voice, and then soothing shadow washed over him, blocking the light from his sensitive eyes. "Kind of woozy."

"Understandable," Narcissa said, and there was the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder. "He nearly melted under all that dark magic. He won't be much use for a few days."

"Isn't there somewhere we could take him?" Harry asked. "You said you have an apartment in France, didn't you?"

"Yes, but the ministry will know about it," Narcissa said. "I suppose the castle in Arviragus...?"

Her voice trailed off. Draco could guess why, and he winced as he heard his father. In the darkness, his father sounded as daunting and implacable as the ministry.

"Compromised. They know that forest is ours. They may be searching through it now." Lucius took a deep breath, steadying himself. "No, this is best. We can apparate out of here, keep moving. Always leave two people on watch during the night, stay in the old places. The ministry can't know many of them, and they can't guard the ones they do know about."

"Then why are we still here?" Harry asked.

"A damn good question," Severus said. "This place is fine for regrouping, but we've regrouped. We should go."

'Regrouping'? Draco shifted slightly, curled up on his soft, warm mattress. Then he wasn't home? Where were they? He found he couldn't speak, as if his mouth couldn't form words. A strange breath escaped from his lips, followed by another pat on his head.

"Not yet," Lucius said. "The danger's passed for now. We'll wait here, see if they manage to break through the manor's defenses. They'll waste a good amount of time there."

"And then?" Severus asked.

"By then Narcissa should have some more information," Lucius said. "We'll see if the ministry's attacked anyone else. And then we'll make our next plan."

"On the off-chance that something surprising happens," Severus said. "Say, twenty aurors follow Weasley in here for lunch. We should have a place in mind to apparate to. 'Cissa?"

"I'd volunteer the noble house of Black," Narcissa said. "But I'm afraid I no longer have claim to it."

"Oh..." Harry made a soft sound. "I...I didn't even think about that. I guess I do."

"And everyone knows it," Severus said and shut down that idea. "The headmaster will have someone there shortly if he doesn't already. No, it must be someplace they would not suspect."

"Someplace further south," Lucius mused, still formulating a plan in his mind. "We should keep apparating until we get out of the country, as tiring as that will be."

A long silence followed as they all fell into thought. No one said anything. Draco, with his head lolling one way and his arms tightly at his side, was of no help. He'd be lucky if he could side-along with them, let alone apparate himself.

"We'll keep thinking," Severus said. "What else should we-"

"No," Lucius said, in a gentle tone that was surprising given his obvious bad mood. "You're running ragged. I know this isn't the best place for it, but you should try to get some sleep. Transfigure into something small, perhaps. 'Cissa can hold you."

"Like hell," Severus snapped. "I may have been rash but I will not be carried-"

"You have been manipulated," Narcissa said, and there was no teasing note in her voice. "By the headmaster you trusted."

Draco winced, glad that he couldn't see his master's undoubtedly stricken face. His parents always criticized him, but criticizing each other? That was enough to send one of them into a sulk for a week. And it was even worse when it was deserved.

"Dumbledore, the castle, my damned stupid Bella'..." she continued. "Sev', you didn't see yourself—you've been on such a wild flight these past few days you...you can't keep doing this. You're going to fall apart just when I need you the most."

Again, silence. Draco curled even tighter, grateful for the heavy blanket on top of him as it pressed close.

"I need you at your best right now," Lucius said. "And you can't do that when you're exhausted."

Longer silence. Draco was sure that he wouldn't hear Severus answer. His curiosity got the better of him. He started to nose his way out of the blanket, pushing little by little to the bright spot just beyond the shadow. He must have been more exhausted that he realized, though, since the blanket felt like lead.

"I'll sleep when we arrive at...wherever it is we're going," Severus breathed. "Not yet. I'm too wound up to sleep."

But why couldn't he sleep there? Draco finally poked through and looked out, tasting the air. He hissed in surprise.

Not in a warm bed but in his husband's hands, he'd somehow turned into a small wyvern while unconscious. He looked around at the table Harry had rested him on, following the hands around him up the arms to his parents. How much bigger they seemed like this, as if they could solve any problem. Lucius spotted him and frowned, but Draco only drew back a tiny bit and continued to look around.

The windows to the left held thick curtains that had been drawn to cover every inch of glass, hiding them from view. He had no doubt that the glass door was similarly blocked. And the place they were in was no home. Several seconds passed as he tried to take in the gigantic chairs and tables, the long white lights, the counters and familiar scent in the air. He hissed again as he realized where they were.

Above Draco, for once Harry and Severus felt like kindred spirits, exchanging nervous glances as they surveyed the small pizzaria. There were no other diners—a quick confundus spell had sent the only other customer outside without paying and put the girl behind the counter into an oblivious haze as she read her magazine. Little had changed since Harry had brought Draco here the night of his little rebellion against Lucius. The linoleum floor was yellowed and stained, peeling in places, and the window curtains were threadbare and ratty edged, and although the food seemed edible, it was a strange thing to see Lucius and Narcissa across the table, yawning at the late hour and willingly sampling muggle soda.

"I know I'll never get you all," Harry said, looking at his in-laws from across the pizzaria table. "But there are days when I really don't understand a single thing you do."

The look Lucius gave him was one of innocent bemusement, entirely fake of course. No doubt the elder Malfoy enjoyed Harry's discomfit and thought it was a fair trade for having to sit in a muggle restaurant, dressed in transfigured muggle clothes. Not that Lucius looked ridiculous. Severus had done the transfiguring, and Lucius looked the part of a businessman in a long coat, gray suit and darkly green tie, hardly fidgeting in the unfamiliar outfit.

Beside him, Narcissa would have fit into an art nouveau painting, wrapped in blue silk that went to her calves, emphasizing her long, straight shape. She smiled self-consciously, still figuring a way to eat the pizza slices laid before her without dirtying her gloves. After several seconds of hesitation, she held her hand out to Severus, who tugged the glove from her without protest, without even a rolled eye.

"Well, don't look at me," Severus said grumbled, folding her glove as he answered Harry. "I think it's how they've survived so long. No one can predict crazy."

"And yet," Lucius said, pulling off a pepperoni and eating it. "You follow us without question."

Increasingly agitated, Severus dug out something from his coat pocket, the small white and red thing that Harry had seen the last time they were here at this restaurant. Now in the bright florescent light, Harry recognized it as a package of cigarettes. With a practiced flick of his wrist, Severus slid one out and lit it with the candle on the table.

"Sev'," Lucius murmured, disapproval clear in his eyes.

"You're right that I am drawn tight," Severus said, his consonants growing more and more clipped. "I insist."

Lucius opened his mouth, about to protest, then sighed and leaned back in his seat. "Fine. But I will forever curse myself that I didn't get to you before your bad habits did."

"I haven't had one in...a few weeks," Severus said, annoyed that he had to admit it. "The last time we were here."

"Ah."

When Lucius had nearly driven Draco off himself. Lucius waved away the thought and the smoke and turned his attention to across the table. From his seat, he could see all the windows, the front door, Harry who carefully kept an eye on the backdoor, and his son curled up in Harry's hands.

Harry followed his look and very gently raised one finger to stroke Draco's head. His husband didn't respond except to shift in his palm and breathe out, tail flicking as if in a dream.

"He will turn back, right?" Harry asked. "He's not stuck."

"Hardly," Narcissa said, feigning disinterest. "He knows I can't beat him until he changes back."

"That can't be the only reason," Harry said, and only with concentrated effort did he not take her bait. He'd been beaten enough times to feel an automatic twinge if anyone mentioned it, and he also knew that Narcissa had never so much as slapped Draco.

"After everything he did?" Lucius said. "I'll be amazed if he changes back before tomorrow, and if he knows what's good for him, he won't change back for another week."

That got Draco to lift his head, eyeing his father.

"Left without giving us any explanation, flew halfway across the country, nearly got himself killed by the ministry, nearly killed himself with dark magic..." Lucius cut himself before his voice could rise to a shout. He took a deep breath and glared at his son.

"And that grand empty gesture of leaving your blood," he snapped. "Running away to save the world-"

Narcissa lightly touched Lucius' hand. Cutting himself off yet again, he reached for the drink in front of him only to pause with a faint look of disgust. He glanced at the far wall and the row of liquor in the cabinet.

"Accio alcohol," he muttered, catching the bottle as it flew towards him. He tilted it towards Severus, who sighed with a breathful of smoke and popped the muggle container open for him.

"You know what that does to you," Severus said in warning.

"As I've been reminded," Lucius hissed, "my son has nearly died twice in as many days. The ministry is banging down my door and I am stuck here, outside my place of power, in a muggle dive at the behest of my own husband. I think, for everyone's sake, I'd best drink myself into a stupor."

With that, he tossed back an impressive amount in one go and slammed the bottle on the table with a huff.

"I suppose we're all full of grand empty gestures today," Narcissa grumbled and glanced at her book. "Nothing yet."

"What did you ask them?" Harry said.

"If the girls got back safely," she said. "Or if anyone knows what's happening at Hogwarts. But if no one responds soon, I think we should go as soon as the wizards up there get through our gate."

"You really think they can breach it?" Severus asked, taking a long drag off the cigarette and shuddering slightly, no longer used to the habit. The smoke magically dissipated without a trace.

"It's strong," Lucius said. "But even with Potter's strength, it will eventually give way. Especially with the six or so wizards we left attacking it."

"So it was just a bluff," Harry said softly. "Lupin and the others could have come through if they'd really tried."

"Buying time," Lucius said and took another drink. When he put the bottle down, his hand was shaking slightly. "But not enough. We'll wait for the distraction. Then go."

"Where?" Severus asked again.

"Serpentia," Lucius said. "From there, we'll go to Paris."

"Are we really abandoning England?" Narcissa asked. "After everything we've done, everything Draco's done?"

Lucius was silent for a long time. As they waited, they heard the distant pops and burned splashes from high up on the ridge. Although none of them expected it, they waited for the spells to turn explosive, staring sidelong as their worry mixed with anxiety. Lucius winced as the alcohol drove pins and needles into his stomach, the blossoming agony that accompanied the numbing mental haze.

"Bastards," Severus muttered in restrained rage. "They never change. We gave and gave and all they know how to do is take."

"I..." Harry hesitated, not sure what to say. "It can't be all of them. It wasn't like this at Hogwarts."

"The students grew up with you and Draco," Narcissa said. "But Fudge and his damn aurors, they'll never stop. They'll never..." She turned away and closed her eyes, her voice strained. "Damn, Bella'..."

The explosion punctuated their sense of loss. On the hill, the gate to Malfoy Manor vanished in a whirlwind of fire and steel as the aurors burst through, charging across the grounds as if the family were still inside. The Malfoys stood at once, and Draco wobbled as Harry suddenly moved, holding him close to his chest.

"No more time," Lucius said. "'Cissa, tell them to-"

"I've already sent my messages," she said, cutting him off not out of disrespect but for time. "They're all going."

Harry looked at her wide-eyed. "All the dark wizards are leaving England? But there isn't even a war anymore."

"If we're lucky, this will only be a temporary measure," Lucius said, one hand against his side as the alcohol burned. He took one more long drink and slammed the bottle down, then held up his cane. "But don't hold your breath. Take hold of the snake's head. Ready? Malfoy cottage, Serpentia."

They reappeared in a small ruin, the burned out stones still blackened after an old fire and the roof long gone. Ivy grew in the corners and through the bare window, and flowers and grass lined the floor. The cottage was only a skeleton, but the hearth still remained, full of damp wood.

Severus knelt by the fireplace and dug up a small pot, brushing away the dirt as he unstoppered it. He offered the floo powder to Narcissa, who took a handful and said in a clear voice "Coquille d'Escargot, Rue de Sorcellerie, Paris."

She walked into the flames, followed by Lucius, then Harry. Draco shut his eyes tight. He'd never traveled through the floo as a snake, and the rush and roar of it threatened to tear his small body apart. Coming out was just as jarring, and he hissed his displeasure to anyone who would hear.

"Don't bite me," Harry whispered. "And don't distract me. In fact, here."

Vertigo washed over him as Draco was lifted up and set on Harry's shoulders. With another hiss, he slithered around Harry's throat, tucking his tail under his husband's robes and poking his head out for a good view.

They all had their wands out, ready in case there would be a fight, including Lucius despite how he grimaced. Severus stepped through with his wand free, relaxing only when they did and taking a long look at their new surroundings. Moonlight wafted in from between the rainclouds, making the faint drizzle sparkle and providing just enough light to see by.

The Coquille d'Escargot was a mess of rotted black wood and broken walls, smashed furniture and a collapsed second floor sagging in. Clearly an old tavern, it had been abandoned so long that the walls had begun to moulder and return to nature with dark flowers and bushes growing up the sides. The center of the floor had long since turned into a black pool of rain water.

Narcissa took a deep breath and put away her wand, gathering up her skirt as she picked her way across the room, stepping over shards of brick and broken chairs sticking out the vast puddle. As she stood by the far doorway, leaning out to scan the lane, something hissed overhead, but she didn't bother to shy away as a bright spell flashed a few inches above her.

"Rather trusting," Severus said as the ghoul's body splashed down beside her.

"I know you're watching," she said, not even glancing in his direction. "It's clear. Let's go."

"The Snail Shell?" Lucius murmured. "I assume we are not heading to the apartment?"

"The ministry knows about it," she answered, her light sing-song teasing hiding her nerves. "No one found me before, so we're going back where I was hiding."

"I thought you were in the forest," Severus said as he came up beside her. "That empty castle we went to after the battle."

"I was in a forest," she said. "Not that one, though. You'll see. I suppose it comes from the fact that your family was always British and the Malfoys sojourned in France."

"Ah, that's right," Severus mused. "But Black is a Germanic name."

In a group, they made their way down the lane. The street was almost all dirt again, with the faint outlines of cobblestones poking up out of the mud. Around them, the windows looking down from the apartments were all boarded up in shadows with only the pale phosphorescence of ghosts drifting by. And then the lane opened up into a courtyard with a similarly ancient stone path and a tall fountain in the center. The water had long since dried up and mud filled the cracked basins, and the nymph statue on top was missing both her head and both arms. The sky and the ground were the same shade of black, with the moon gleaming on the white marble and gray, stooping trees.

"Early Roman," Severus guessed. "So this is where the invasion came through, right into the heart of the dark community here."

"Yes," she said, "they built right over us. But it's all right. All they did was cover a few secrets."

She went up to the fountain and stepped over the basin edge, reaching into a deep crevasse where water once poured out. Instead she pulled out a sparkling red jewel as big as her fist.

"Still here," she said in satisfaction. "All of you, take my hand."

As they did so, she spoke something in German that none of them recognized. A moment later, the dark courtyard vanished and they stood at the foot of a low castle. Built simply in two stories, the castle was surrounded by trees that showed signs of magical manipulation, twisted and bent sideways with the wind.

Narcissa breathed in deep and turned around, smiling at them like a hostess inviting in guests. Something behind them made them turn, and Harry took a quick step backward. Although there was a long field ahead of them, the hill dropped into a steep descent and the vast countryside and forest lay for miles away, farmlands and roads turning the land into a quilt.

"This is Schauinsland," she said. "In the Black Forest."

"No wonder you looked so thin before," Lucius whispered. "Germany in the winter is cruel."

"Yes, it was," she said, nodding. "Let's go in. The house elves should be here now."

"If it's all the same," Harry said, "I want to get Draco in a bath. The dark magic was really thick on him."

"A fine excuse," she said with the shadow of a smile on her lips. "Let's go. I'll show you to your room. Sev', down the hall is the kitchen. See if you can't get the elves to make something hot for our husband."

The halls were narrow, poorly lit, and Harry was glad to finally be alone in their designated room. Sparsely furnished with a bed, a desk and a cabinet, the place felt as if no one had been there in years. He opened the window for light and air, then sat on the edge of the bed and coaxed Draco into his hand.

"All right," he said, gently setting him on the mattress. "Time to change back. Can you do that?"

Draco slithered around on the blanket, then looked up at Harry and hissed.

"Don't hiss at me," Harry grumbled, but his smile belied his tone. "Turn. I won't be happy 'till you're in the bath."

Draco hid under the edge of the pillow.

With an irritated sigh, Harry pulled away the pillow and caught Draco in one hand, bringing him out forcefully again. Holding him firmly on the mattress, he raised one eyebrow as Draco hissed continually.

"Just because I can't understand wyvern hissing," he said, "doesn't mean I can't tell you're cursing. Now turn. You're so tiny this way I'm afraid I'd hurt you if I forced it."

With a final hiss, Draco relaxed and shifted, leaving himself naked with Harry's hand on his stomach. He put his hands under himself to sit up, then found Harry climbing over him, straddling his stomach.

"You look better," Harry said, cupping Draco's face and forcing him to meet his look. "Being a little snake suits you."

"Harry, I can explain-" Draco started.

"I'm sure you can," Harry said. "I expect to hear a good, long explanation out of you, and then weeks of you apologizing and making it up to me. Do you have any idea how frantic we were? How scared I was? I didn't even get what you were doing until Snape explained it to me."

"I had to-" Draco tried again.

"You couldn't spare five minutes to tell us what you were doing?" Harry cut him off. "To take me with you?"

"Is that what this is about?" Draco huffed. "The Boy Who Lived got left behind?"

"You almost died in front of me!" Harry yelled. "That's what this is about. And for what? Some stupid stunt with Hogwarts and-"

"It wasn't a stunt," Draco said. "I had to do it. I had to show them their founders were just as vile as they think we are."

"There's no way you knew what was down there," Harry said. "No way. You didn't even know about the classroom or the chamber or any of it."

"I..." Draco hesitated, then sighed and looked away. "I didn't. But I did. It was all fresh in my head when I woke up, but then it faded. I...Harry, I think I saw her. I mean really saw her."

"Who?" Harry leaned up, surprised at the awe in his husband's voice. "Who'd you see?"

"Her," Draco said. "The first sacrifice. She talked to me before, I think, in a dream, and then..."

He paled, then pressed his hand over his mouth. "Oh God...that's right. I remember now. I drank her blood."

"You what?" Harry said, then frowned and shook his head, sliding off of him. "No. You're going in the bath. You can tell me after I'm sure all the dark's off of you."

Draco didn't argue as Harry pulled him up and to the door to the side. Unlike their large bath in Malfoy Manor, the bath here was a large wooden basin just big enough for one. There was the pop of a house elf disappearing, and steam rose up from the hot water in the basin.

"Perfect," Harry said. "In you go."

Draco held onto Harry's hand, easing with a hiss into the water. As he sank down, the water only came to his waist, and he was grateful that the water had enough soapy bubbles to give him a little privacy. Although Harry had seen him naked a hundred times, he felt vulnerable when his husband was angry. A little coverage was better than nothing.

Instead of berating him, however, Harry recited the cleansing spell a few more times, smiling in relief when only the tiniest of dark wisps dripped from Draco's hair and vanished. He leaned on the tub and brought up a handful of water, soaking Draco's hair.

"God, I'm glad you're alive," Harry said quietly. "I almost lost you."

"What happened?" Draco said. "I remember you pulling me back, but then...I woke up in that muggle place in your hands."

"I brought you back to the manor," Harry said. "You were unconscious as soon as we arrived. Your family helped me get more of the darkness off of you, but we were still in the middle of it when Fudge arrived. He said what you'd done was an attack on the normal wizards and said he had a warrant to arrest us and lock us in Azkaban, and to kill us if we resisted."

"It would've been better if I died," Draco murmured. "A sacrifice."

"They don't see sacrifice the same way you do," Harry said. "They'd call it a suicide attack. What...what was all that inside the castle, though?"

"Sacrifices," Draco said. "It was clearer when I'd woken up. Now it's all blurry. I don't know where they came from, just that they're what Hogwarts got so much strength from. I...maybe we have a pensieve here. That might help."

But help what? If he remembered everything, what was the point? They'd fled England and abandoned any hope of returning. So strange to leave after everything they'd done, but if Fudge and his lackeys could attack with impunity after all the overtures and struggling Draco had done...then there was no hope. The light community had gone through the motions of tolerating dark wizards after the war, but then turned on them at the first opportunity.

When he felt better, when he was completely clear-headed and had time to think, he would find a way to destroy Azkaban. Then the ministry. Fudge. All of Fudge's aurors. Draco's look darkened. Then he would lead anyone who would follow back into England, openly taking back their country, and the gaudy statue in the ministry would be changed to a grand one of Morgan le Fey and Mordred, and woe to anyone who resisted.

"Don't get that look," Harry said, leaning close to sneak a kiss. "You're plotting."

"I am," Draco nodded. "With you by my side, I could do anything. Harry, would you do anything for me?"

There was a dangerous undertone to his voice, and Harry frowned. "What are you asking?"

"You're so powerful," Draco said, sitting straight. "I think we could succeed where the dark lord failed. I think-"

"No."

"But-"

"No!" Harry put his hands around Draco's face, holding him still. "I'm not going to let you turn into Voldemort. You've had a bad shock. You need sleep and a hot meal and then more sleep."

"I'm not tired," Draco hissed. "We could do it, you and I. Or do you love the ministry so much that-"

"If fighting starts again, I could lose you," Harry said. He grasped Draco's shoulders and pulled him close, holding him tight. "Please, no. You've already come so close so many times. I don't want to fight anymore."

Oh. Well, Draco supposed that was a decent reason. Especially since he didn't want to risk dying again. But that meant he needed to find a different way to fight, using the lies and politics he was so fond of, although that was a little harder. Or he could convince Harry to fight later. So many possibilities and options and things to try.

The next day found him in a loose robe transfigured from the bed sheet, sitting at the desk as he jotted ideas and half-baked plans for taking back England. So enthralled was he by his plotting that he didn't notice Ilmauzer at the window, tired and drooping, that his owl had to drop the letter in front of his face. Patting Ilmauzer in some relief to see him alive and well, Draco opened the letter with his free hand, sure that it was from May or Damiana.

_~Destroyed Azkaban like you asked. Can we talk now? – Lupin_

Draco leaned back in his chair and stared at the wall for a moment, then looked back at the note, feeling like someone had let all the wind out of his sails.


	15. Wherein Lupin and Draco scheme

Draco sat in the far corner of the Conquille d'Escargot, leaning back in a wood chair that must have been over five hundred years old. Like the rest of the old tavern, the wood was burned black from the war, scorched by spells flashing past. Only one other chair was still intact, set on the other side of his table. Small miracle that anything had survived or that the tavern itself was still partly standing. The walls groaned against the wind, and somewhere out of sight, a dangling shutter clattered lightly against its window.

The breeze was cool and damp, promising rain. Draco gave a small whip of his head, tipping the hood of his robe down to shield his eyes, but otherwise he didn't move. With one leg propped against the table before him, the other on the floor to keep his balance, he looked like a willful student in the back of the classroom, bored and annoyed by the lesson. He held his wand across his lap, hidden under the table, although his grip was relaxed.

He'd been here for nearly an hour watching the sun go down behind the houses. The last purple rays had disappeared, and black clouds covered the moon. The night was almost pitch black, but he found that if he swept his gaze over the burnt ruin before him, the silhouettes and outlines stood out clearly, the broken lines of crumbling walls and the torn staircase.

Lupin had promised to arrive half an hour ago. Draco wondered if he'd been delayed or killed, or if this was a ruse meant to catch him. Either way, in another fifteen minutes, he would leave.

He amused himself wondering what the tavern had been like before the war. Here were the tables and chairs, there against the back wall was the bar holding barrels of wine and small beer. There in the corner were the remains of a deep oven, the kind that witches shoved muggle children into, where the bread would have been made. The black soil hadn't yet covered the stone floor, and upstairs...

Thunder rolled overhead, bringing with it a light mist that made everything wet. Upstairs, the gaping hole in the roof let in the rain and sagged on one side. Over the years, the front wall above him had utterly fallen apart, and now the whole building was in danger of collapse.

But not today. He breathed deep and tilted his head, turning away from the wind as it grew colder. Something about wind at night felt more illicit, like it was a taboo just to be in the old Rue de Sorcellerie. The wind moaned as if passing through a graveyard, and he was glad Harry had pushed him to eat before he came.

The clouds swept past the gibbous moon, and in the light, the mist looked like a sparkling curtain. Draco didn't move, but he felt a deep sense of weariness wash over him. He stifled a yawn and resigned himself to a long night. The rain on his hood droned steadily, with the occasional heavy drop punctuating the restless night.

The portkey spell snapped open and Lupin appeared, robes torn along the edges with burn marks. He'd come alone, Draco noted with some relief, and he let the werewolf look around in confusion for a moment. No doubt he'd never been here before, and he rose a tiny bit in Draco's esteem for being brave enough to come at all.

Foolish enough, Draco corrected himself, and his respect began to slip again. Until Lupin turned his head and stared right at him. Even for a dark wizard, that was unnerving. Couldn't fool werewolf senses, not even in human form.

With a small noise of irritation, Draco lifted his wand and cast a lumos spell that glowed softly above him.

"My thanks for agreeing to see me," Lupin said, coming close and pulling up the other chair. "I'm sure the last week has been exhausting for all of us."

Draco didn't answer except to slightly tip his head, keeping his hood down. The water rolled off his robes but the cold bite in the air seemed to slip straight through.

"I was sure you wouldn't believe me," Lupin said as if he hadn't expected Draco to speak. "I brought proof."

He reached into his pocket. Draco tensed, holding his breath, expecting a wand. Instead Lupin pulled a handful of photographs that he fanned in on the table. Although the angles were terrible, taken from behind a bush or tree, the gates at the base of Azkaban were clear. So was the shattered wall and the pile of stones littering the ground. As the photograph shifted, the angle showed that more than half the tower had fallen backward in a long line straight into the water.

A flash briefly turned one of the pictures white, followed by the explosion of the top of the tower. Dementers scattered, then floated down toward the water as if they could no longer hold themselves aloft.

"They'll be able to rebuild," Lupin admitted though he didn't sound regretful either way about it. "But for now Azkaban is destroyed, the dementers are loosed, and most of the people inside have escaped."

"'Most'?" Draco echoed, narrowing his eyes. That Azkaban had been destroyed was unbelievable, but if he was to keep his upper hand here, he had to seize on any slip or seeming mistake. "Did you kill some of my kind?"

"Of course not," Lupin said, offended at the thought. "There were a few that we would not allow out of the prison. You probably don't know them. Vin de Rais, Sheela na Gigs. A couple others, right monsters. If you did know them—I'm sorry, but those killers were non-negotiable."

About to question if Lupin wanted to negotiate at all, Draco half shrugged his shoulder and let it go. No sense in being overly critical, not with his sarcastic demand dropped in his lap. Even if the dead were dark wizards, one or two lost pawns were acceptable to win the board.

"All right," he said. "You destroyed it. What on earth could be so vital that you want to talk with a Malfoy? We have no more power in England."

He was surprised by the twist in his heart at admitting that. England had always been his home. He'd consummated his marriage with Harry there, spilled so much blood to keep his lands and help destroy the dark lord.

Lost over one righteous little bureaucrat and his mob of followers. But wasn't that always the way?

"You do have power there," Lupin said. "I don't know how you lot spread the word so fast, but every dark wizard in England is gone. Some of them even set fire to their homes before they went."

"So your side finally won," Draco said. "Merlin would be proud."

"We don't exactly have a side right now," Lupin said, then paused and looked up through the hole in the roof. "Do you mind if I put up a paragua spell? This rain is annoying."

Draco waved his hand lightly, his keen watch on the man's wand betraying his nerves. A moment later, Lupin had a shimmering umbrella-like dome over their heads with water flowing over and around them, and as he put away his wand, he took the moment to take a second look at their surroundings.

"This is a strange place," Lupin said, running his hand along the rotted table. "Is it...dark?"

"One of our old places," Draco said. "Destroyed in the first war, before the Roman invasion. Mordred might have sat here once."

"It's almost like Hogsmeade," Lupin mused, then sighed and lowered his head. "Fudge has made a terrible mess of things. He has followers, more than we expected, and they've started quite the witch hunt. He has a list of dark families that he sent people after. It's amazing they didn't catch anyone."

"Word spreads like wildfire with us," Draco said with a touch of pride. "He was too slow."

Oral tradition, Severus would have called it. Gossip, Narcissa would argue. Secrets would have been Lucius' answer. Draco knew all their means of communication now, the diaries and floos and jewelry spelled to send messages, and he knew the real reason. Survival. Morgan had taught them to put aside their clan bickering and flee as one.

"But it's been days since you left," Lupin said. "Without any of your kind, he's gone after sympathizers. He can't attack them openly, of course, but there's a real schism in our side right now. People who hate you and people who...well..."

"Don't want to kill us?" Draco asked.

"Are sick of fighting and don't think you're evil," Lupin said. "Yes, who don't want to kill you. Who want to stop the war and want you back leading the way."

"Leading? Me?" Draco said in genuine surprise. "Not my father or-?"

"You're the one who took so many risks," Lupin said. "You've been there trying to make peace with us. People have noticed, Draco. And...well, your attack on Hogwarts really made everyone stop and look."

"What are they saying?" Draco asked, not bothering to correct that it wasn't an attack. "We can't get any real English news now. Even the Prophet doesn't come here."

"The bones kept coming even after you disappeared," Lupin said. "Just pouring out of the castle. We've tried to gather up as many as we could, but the lake was covered in them for hours. And as we started looking, some of us noticed that many of the bones look more recent than others."

Draco frowned. "Was someone making sacrifices?"

"No," Lupin said slowly. "No, I don't think so. There were no wands. No amulets. But there were a few with clothes, and those hand things in their pockets. Muggle things. Arthur recognized them."

"Muggle things?" Draco said. Strange. The First Sacrifice had said nothing about that. Not that she'd said much of anything, but still. "I don't understand."

"Please forgive me for asking this," Lupin said, leaning forward as if he could physically pin the truth down to the table. "If it offends you—but we have to know. Hermione's told us more about your practice of sacrifice, expanded on what you told us. In all your practices, does your community kill muggles for magic?"

The thought left Draco speechless for a moment. An immediate sense of disgust welled up in him, souring in his stomach. Kill muggles on a nightride, certain, and if you had a chance to destroy them before they destroyed you. But for magic? Something must have shown on his face because Lupin began to backtrack.

"My apologies," Lupin said too quickly, as if afraid that Draco would up and leave. "I thought maybe-"

"No, no," Draco said, waving his hand. "It's not that. It's just...look, we joke about it sometimes. Kill a muggle or a mudbl-"

The old slur stuck in his throat. He stumbled over it and kept going.

"Kill a muggle sympathizer for the full moon," he said. "But that's all it is, a laugh. We might-"

Here he stumbled again, this time over how much he should say. That Lupin watched with wide eyes, eagerly soaking up his explanation, only made this more dangerous. But he had to make a split decision and Malfoys were nothing if not reckless. And besides, weren't they already all fled from England?

"In all honesty, we might use a person for parts," he admitted. "For potions."

Lupin's face darkened. "I remember you saying that your kind did not use people for necromancy."

"And it isn't necromancy," Draco said, but he slowed down, taking his time to explain. "It's..."

"It was mentioned directly, the case of the little girl hacked into pieces for a potion," Lupin reminded him. "At the meeting where your union with Harry was arranged-"

"It's not necromancy," Draco insisted, growing louder. "It's too dangerous. We wouldn't use it because there's no controlling the outcome. It can't be harnessed at all."

"You're going to have to explain to me," Lupin said, although his tone was far more threatening than it had been before. "Because I'd hate to think we destroyed Azkaban simply to find out Fudge was right all along."

Draco's temper flashed, straining at the very edges of his control, and for an instant his political acumen slipped, no longer dancing diplomatically around ugly truths but retreating into his wounded, prejudiced pride.

"Necromancy isn't like your potions, chopping people up for parts," Draco said, his words turning clipped and harsh. "It's subtle. It takes expertise and fine handling. I don't need bloody bits of you lot. All I need is my breath and the cutting of a plant."

"'Your breath'," Lupin said, as if catching him in a slip. "Your soul, you mean."

"Yes, mine," Draco said with a mocking turn of his head. "Part of me goes into it, part of me is in that warped plant or half breed. It's as intimate as..."

He turned, reddening unexpectedly. As intimate as anything he'd done with Harry. All of his parents' innuendos of dark magic as a lover made such sense to him now. Love and death and life all at once. Looking into Lupin's eyes, he found he didn't have to explain that further. The man's eyebrow quirked as if he was amused at Draco's slip.

"What you're suggesting is disgusting," Draco said, calming down as his embarrassment swept over him. "But not for why you think. I don't care if someone's killing muggles or half-bloods. I won't use them in a spell because I'd be putting some of myself with them."

Lupin leaned back, his face showing a flash of realization. "It isn't the murder. It's the intimacy. Merlin, it's your own bigotry coming back on you."

Draco grimaced. "I don't care what you call it. My husband recently forced me to face a batch of muggles. Those things are vile and diseased. I wish my great aunt had managed to get the hunting law passed."

"If it was Harry's family, those weren't exactly the best examples," Lupin muttered. "Your own issues aside, you said that you use parts for spells. But then you said that it's not possible. Which is it? And what does it have to do with the bones in the castle?"

"Right," Draco sighed. "The bloody damn castle. God, this would be so much easier if you knew the first thing about us."

"Well..." Lupin half-smiled. "We'll have to make it a class. Introduction to the Dark Arts. If we survive this little civil war."

Leaning his head in his hands, Draco took a long breath and gathered his thoughts. Lupin was worse than Harry with all his questions. At least his husband had stopped badgering him and didn't get angry with the answers anymore.

"It's a matter of scale," Draco said, repeating what Severus had taught him years ago. "A little bit of someone, one eye, one lock of hair—it has to be something small. Dark magic is heavy. I almost died from casting too many spells at once. And that's with only a little blood."

"That whole mess of black slime that was dripping off of you, right?" Lupin asked.

Draco didn't bother to say that it wasn't slime. "That was just a small piece of myself. If I used all of someone, bones and everything, I wouldn't be able to cast the spell. The magic would be too powerful. Hell, it would probably just explode and the spell would go insane."

Again Lupin sat a little straighter with the irritating look as if he'd solved something. "Insane how?"

Half-shrugging, Draco gave a little shake of his head. "I don't know. I've never done it. I don't remember anyone ever doing it."

"Could Harry do it?" Lupin asked.

"What?" Draco breathed in. "If you're even thinking Harry would-"

"I spoke wrong," Lupin apologized, rapidly backtracking. "I mean could someone as strong as him control a spell like that? He's probably ten times stronger than most of us."

"No," Draco said, adamant. "At the most, a dark spell only uses a cauldron of blood at a time. You're talking about bones and skin, eyes and hair and teeth—the residue alone would—"

"So it would have to be...oh. Oh. I see now." Lupin steepled his fingers and lowered his head in deep thought, shaking his head. "Then...yes, I see why you were driven to expose this. Merlin..."

"What?" Draco asked. "What is it?" He frowned, feeling robbed of his own trick.

"It's painfully simple," Lupin said. "After all, the bones were in Hogwarts. You say bodies are extremely powerful, so powerful that it would take someone even greater than Harry to use it. It makes sense, doesn't it?"

"God, you're worse than Sev' when he gets going," Draco muttered. "Could you spell it out for the rest of us?"

Lupin leaned back in his chair, staring at the table for a long moment. There was a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was gazing at something disgusting crawling across the damp wood.

"We never wondered where Hogwarts was getting its magic from," Lupin said. "The founders...Merlin, we can't even blame just Salazar for it. Rowena laid the corridors. She must have known. Helga filled it with elves. Even Godric was instrumental in how the castle grew."

The more Lupin mused, the more the idea began to take root in Draco's mind. The founders, responsible for the slaughter at the base of Hogwarts? But take away the automatic reverence for the four, and everything that Draco knew about magic made sense. The shifting staircases, the floating candles and the ceiling over the Great Hall—Draco shook his head. Hell, just the Room of Requirement would need a vast store of magic to draw from. What was the use of a castle if it sat lifeless?

Draco chuckled once, drawing a dirty look from Lupin. But his satisfaction grew and bubbled up from the spiteful center of himself, his low laughter rumbling in his chest.

"Is mass murder funny?" Lupin snapped.

Chuckling behind his hand, Draco tilted his head and relaxed, understanding what First Sacrifice had been intending all along, and he reveled in his conspiracy with her.

"It's so delicious, this kind of revenge," he said. "You hunted us for centuries, and all the time, the greatest killers were your own founders."

"I don't think you recognize the magnitude of this—" Lupin started.

"All out civil war," Draco cut him off, silencing him with his certainty. "Hogwarts is so important to you lot. Without all that muggle killing, it loses all its magic. So either you send your children to a dead school or else you teach them at home. Of course those of you who can't secure tutors will protest, and...hm, faced with children who can't learn potions or charms, how many of you do you think will push to feed the castle again?"

"Possibly with your kind," Lupin said.

"Did you see the bones?" Draco asked. "Did you get a good look? The lake was covered. That's more than the whole dark community, far more. No, your precious school is eating muggles who get too close. Or...I wonder if there are students in that bone pile?"

Lupin said nothing. Tapping his fingertips in deep thought, he stared past Draco into the darkness.

"We need your help," Lupin said.

Draco turned his head and withdrew into himself, lifting his head slightly. The werewolf's tone had changed. This was no longer a matter of finding out what was wrong with the castle. That had been settled. Something else weighed on Lupin's mind, a problem that couldn't be solved by a quick fix to Hogwarts.

"What do you-?"

"Fudge has made his move against you," Lupin said. "But not because you're dark. He did it because you were our allies."

"What?" Draco snapped. "We were never-"

"It doesn't matter what we think," Lupin said, waving his objection aside. "In his eyes, we were. And here we are conspiring against him."

Grimacing, Draco didn't argue the point. "Then you're saying his attack on us is an attack on you?"

"It doesn't hurt that he can tell everyone that he's attacking the evil dark wizards," Lupin said. "But he wants to be Minister of Magic. Scrimgouer and Dumbledore both supported your side. He only has to prey on very old prejudices and fears—I'm afraid it was rather easy for him to whip up supporters who were willing to attack you, and by association, us."

"He's attacked you openly?" Draco said. "How?"

"He..." Lupin grimaced and adjusted in his seat. "Part of why we could destroy Azkaban so readily was because he'd already begun arresting our...well, I suppose we're like your Knights of Walpurgis."

"Your Phoenix Order?" Draco said, smiling at Lupin's quick raise of his head. "Don't look surprised. I'm married to your bloody savior. So Fudge has been locking you up one at a time?"

"Yes," Lupin said. "Among other measures."

Draco didn't ask, waiting for Lupin to continue.

"He's rounding up all registered vampires, hags, werewolves...all dark creatures on the books."

"Not surprising," Draco said. There was no point in rubbing Lupin's discomfit in his face, although he did enjoy seeing it. "Father fought against that registry, as I recall."

"Either way," Lupin said, "we need you."

"To do what?" Draco asked.

"To support us in taking back the Ministry."

"'Taking back'...?" Draco echoed. "Wait, Fudge took the damn ministry?"

"It's not like we gave it to him," Lupin said quickly. "The aurors are split down the middle. When Fudge's supporters attacked your community, the Order was looking for you—and you refused our help, if I recall—and then Fudge started arresting any aurors who didn't back him. We need your help."

How quickly war swept back on the world, Draco thought, sitting back in his chair and listening to the rain tapping the paragua spell. In the span of a day or two, everything changed. He'd been so wrapped up in his own life, pouring time and energy into keeping his family safe from attack that he'd neglected to see the larger picture, the half-hidden enemies.

"I...don't know if I can answer for the dark wizards," Draco said slowly. "This is different from...from before. A civil war on your side. There are bounds I cannot overstep, and—"

Like a sparkle of light, a silver ring popped into the air in front of him, clattering on the table and spilling out a rolled note. Startled, he recognized the serpent around the ring—his father's sigil, and the note was in his father's handwriting.

_You do._

Another heartbeat as Draco realized what it meant. He closed both hands over the note and bowed his head. Somewhere, watching from the depths of black shadows, his family stood guard and listened to every word he said, whispering to each other under the cover of the rain.

"A message?" Lupin asked.

"Yes," Draco said, looking up and meeting his gaze. "I do have authority to speak for the Knights."

Saying the words made it a little more real, but he felt uncomfortable with the sudden responsibility. He took a long, deep breath, held it, and slowly let it out.

"Yes," Draco said. "The dark families will fight alongside you."

Lupin didn't smile. He paused, then nodded once.

"There will be conditions," Draco added. "And I need time. My people are scattered to hell and back right now, and our tactics are not yours."

"I can't make many promises yet either," Lupin said. "But we need to act fast. How soon can we meet?"

A day to send word out, to gather the Knights, to recruit new fighters and draw up demands...Draco frowned and knew that he couldn't come up with a good number. Too many variables and he'd never waged a military campaign. For a moment he wanted to turn and ask his father for advice, but his scowl deepened. He couldn't betray their presence, and besides, he knew his father would say three days to have their side in perfect readiness. And Severus would scoff at preparing to take on the Ministry in just three days, and Narcissa would mention that their new home was not in a war zone and wouldn't a hot cup of tea be wonderful right now?

"Tomorrow," he said. "At midnight. But not here. Is the theater at Givry-on-Avon possible?"

"It hasn't been reopened yet," Lupin said. "As far as I know. Say midnight?"

"Fine." Draco slowly straightened, coming to his feet as Lupin stood. "I will come with several Knights. Please don't be alarmed when we arrive."

"Likewise." Lupin straightened his robes and looked around once more, allowing the paragua spell to disappear. "If I might say, you're vastly easier to deal with than your father. Less...combative."

Did Lupin suspect...? Draco sighed. No, Lupin damn well knew that they weren't alone. That comment was meant less for Draco and more for Lucius.

"I guess I just haven't had to deal with the rest of society for the past three or four decades," Draco said. "Do you need the portkey out?"

"No, thank you," Lupin said, reaching into his coat pocket. "I have one here. Until tomorrow."

For a long moment, Draco stared at the spot where Lupin disappeared. No wonder the werewolf had agreed to come. He had his own escape ready the whole time. Which drove a tiny stab of envy through Draco, who decided he needed a portkey as well. Something like his father's cane.

Footsteps came from around the wall, stepping over the long-broken door, and then Harry was at his side. Lucius and Narcissa both came from the darkness behind the bar, and a soft thud followed as Severus dropped in from the sagging ceiling, landing on the bar and then stepping down to the floor.

"Tomorrow?" Severus demanded, picking his way across the rotted floor like a cat offended at getting its paws wet. "Are you-"

"-reckless?" Draco finished for him. "I've been told I make it work. Mother, we need someone at the opera right now, before they can-"

"I've already sent word to Vaisey," Narcissa said. "He'll be floo'ing to England by now, and then who will notice one more black bird at the theater?"

Draco nodded. Good. He pressed his hand to his temple, staving off the growing headache. Everything was still up in the air, too many plots and possibilities tossed high and waiting to come down, but he had bought himself this brief moment to see everything and try to judge where everything would fall. Aurors. The Order. The Knights. The Minister and Dumbledore, Fudge and whatever remained of the Death Eaters.

As he leaned on Harry, resting his head on his husband's shoulder, he heard his father coming close and glanced at Lucius sideways, his question obvious in his eyes.

"You read my message right," Lucius said, putting his hand on Draco's arm. "You speak for the Knights."

"Father—" Draco started.

Panic welled up inside his heart and he dug his fingers into Harry's arms, making his husband wince. Worse than his wedding night when he felt his parents' protection slipping away, no longer shielding him from his mistakes, now he felt the weight of official authority settling on his shoulders. He could always step behind his father and let him make all the decisions, but Lucius looked resolute. His father's faint smile only made Draco feel like Lucius was winning a bet that Draco didn't even know about.

"I'm not going anywhere," Lucius continued. "You don't yet have enough experience in a fight and you'll need guidance."

"And yelling when you screw things up," Severus added.

"But," Lucius said, glaring at his husband, "you've done more for the dark than anyone else in a hundred years. You're clearly not just a Knight nor a Malfoy anymore."

Draco's brow furrowed in thought. "Then what am I?"

No one answered him. Narcissa and Lucius shared a look, and Harry held him a little closer, making Draco realize that he was shivering. While the rain had barely touched them, he'd been in soaked robes for half an hour now.

"I refuse to have this conversation in a damp wreck of a bar," Severus said, catching Lucius' eye. "Now?"

"Yes, home," Lucius said, holding out his cane.

Content to let Harry touch it for the both of them, Draco put his face at Harry's neck and thought about why his parents had hesitated at his question. Not truly a Knight nor a Malfoy. What a curious way to say that. He supposed he'd been acting a little like one of the heroes from a children's story, the brave wizard risking his life and exposing villainy.

His face reddened. Those heroes were stupid, foolish and reckless—and damned if Severus didn't have a point about his behavior, he thought, wincing. But he refused to be a hero. They usually ended up fighting for other people and dying nobly, and there were no self-respecting dark wizards to be found among their ranks.

Wasn't Harry a hero? Draco told himself that Harry didn't count. Then what was Draco? Not a Knight, not a commander...

Something about reappearing on the German hillside outside his mother's castle, staring over the Black Forest and the town below, surrounded by trees that still grew bent from necromantic experiments, gave him a terrible flash of insight. Another witch had lived here, gathering her own forces, separate from the dark wizards yet part of them, with her hero who challenged Arthur and led them into war.

"Oh bloody hell," he murmured, clutching tight to Harry again.

"What's wrong?" Harry whispered.

"Just remembering that things didn't go so well for Mordred in the end."


	16. Wherein more than one battle is planned

The rain had not let up since their meeting, and Draco began to suspect that the constant storm was not natural. Black clouds covered most of Europe, most intently focused on Scotland and England, hammering their coasts. Did the Ministry suspect that the dark wizards or the Order might try to summon reinforcements from other countries, bringing them en masse in great ships on the beach? Draco chuckled at the thought. Who would join him or Lupin, the only two players who might oppose Fudge? And who would join with Fudge while Draco and Lupin remained on the vast chessboard?

No, the rest of the world would watch on the sidelines until the mess was sorted out. Even if he could summon help from his friends in America, they would not arrive in time.

The fight had to be decided quickly, within the week, before Fudge had time to prepare and dig in for a siege. The Ministry was too full of traps and corridors, too labyrinthian beneath the ground, and any attempt at a fight would be like chasing snakes into their dens. Rather they must be drawn out into the open and then slaughtered, given no recourse but to die.

Perhaps Lupin would demand the Ministry forces be allowed to surrender. Draco would simply make sure Fudge and his forces had no time to try.

With that in mind, Draco came to Givry-on-Avon, making his way to the opera house. He was not surprised to see the town much changed. Lupin had said something about Order members being arrested, and he doubted they had gone without a fight. Surely Fudge was about the business of clamping down on his enemies. Streets were deserted, kept empty by a curfew, and working streetlamps were far and few between, leaving the roads dark and quiet.

Even so, Draco stayed on the grass, a single knut in his mouth as he slithered under leaves and around stones. As he darted across pavement, he doubted that anyone spotted the little white snake flashing like moonlight between the raindrops, but all the same he half-wished he was a rat or a crow instead. At least those were more common in England.

At last he was across the street from the opera house, and he lifted his head slightly for a better look. The door and windows were still boarded up, the glass still unrepaired. He heard the caw of an anxious crow somewhere above him, and he took heart that Vaisey still stood sentinel in his animagus form, keeping a lookout for danger.

Up the steps, one after another, laboriously stretching his small body up the staircase. The rough stones were made slick with rain, easing his route as he slithered up and inside, pausing beneath a toppled chair to take a look around.

Grass had grown on the carpet as far as the rain would allow, and vines had begun working their way in through broken windows. A hole in the ceiling let in water, forming a large puddle on the floor, and Draco eagerly slipped into the puddle, swimming across and following the water's current down the hall and down the long aisles of the main chamber. The chairs were still shredded and the metal frame of the fatal chandelier stood crumpled in the center of the room.

Now he heard voices, and he darted behind a scrap of fabric dangling from a seat as he listened. Too far away to make sense of the words, he recognized Lupin's voice, and soon after him, Kingsley, Nymphadora, Dumbledore. They were all waiting on the stage with their lumos charms, hiding from the rain under a shield spell as they stood around a wobbly transfigured table with a map between them.

He had a sudden wish to go back to Germany and tell his family they would leave the ministry and the Order to devour each other. One more battle...what more could another war do for them that a thousand years had not? Only his sense of duty and his parents waiting for word made him go on.

First he shed his snake shape, wincing as his body shifted and left him kneeling on all fours, naked, with the knut still in his mouth. He put his hand to his lips and took the coin, whispering "covren" to activate the spell inside.

Black ribbons whipped out of the coin and curled around him, forming a loose pair of pants and long-sleeved shirt, boots, gloves, his cloak with its hood. The sensation was odd, as if he was still exposed and shivering as cold wind touched his skin. Perhaps it was because he was without his wand, left with a handful of hopefully useful spells locked within the coin.

"-if he'll even show up," someone said. "The Draco I know is a whining, scared little brat."

Draco frowned. Nymphadora never could keep her mouth shut. He straightened his cloak and stood, coming around the seats and carefully stepping over long shards of broken crystal.

"You do him a disservice," Dumbledore said. "Boys do grow into men."

"Well, he's not here yet, is he?" Nymphadora snapped.

"Actually," Draco said, pausing at the foot of the stage, "I am."

He kept his hands beneath his cloak to hide the fact that he had no wand. Standing in a bunch on the stage, Lupin and his handful of trusted confidants turned in surprise, their own wands out and ready, aimed at him. Masking how he froze, he tilted his head with a disdainful glance around them.

"Is this all of you?" he asked. "Tell me you each represent an army somewhere. If this is all you could muster, we should quit while we can still run."

For a long, awkward moment, no one answered him, glancing at each other as if they were really going to work with him. And then Dumbledore took a step, waving the others wands down.

"Young Malfoy," Dumbledore said, giving Shacklebolt one more firm look before the man put away his wand. "We were beginning to lose heart that you would appear."

"Getting here was harder than I thought it would be," Draco admitted, coming up on stage and under Lupin's shield spell. Although he was already soaked, he pushed his hair back and tied it with a ribbon. "Fudge's curfew makes it easier for any aurors to spot us."

"So how did you get here?" Lupin asked. "Unless you borrowed Harry's invisibility cloak?"

"No," Draco said, then looked over his shoulder and nodded. "He has that."

A flutter of cloth followed, and Harry came up from the other side of the stage, folding his cloak and tucking it away. Equally as drenched as Draco, he came beside his husband and put one hand on Draco's back, facing the rest.

"Harry," Nymphadora said softly, a look of betrayal in her eyes. "How long were you standing there spying on us?"

"Long enough to make sure it was you," Harry said levelly, "and not someone transfigured to look like you."

"You've really thrown your lot in with them then," she said, taking in the picture they made standing together. "Do you cast dark spells, too?"

"Tonks," Lupin said, turning towards her. "Enough. We have other matters at hand."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "To answer your question, young Malfoy, we are not the only ones left. Though we have lost a handful of our Order, most of us remain ready. That is about twenty battle hardened wizards and witches. Then there are the werewolves-"

"'Werewolves'," Harry echoed, looking at Remus. "Not Fenrir's old pack?"

"Some of them," Lupin nodded. "Most of my pack is made up of registered wolves. The ones who escaped when Fudge...well. He's rounding up anyone on the registry."

"Round up for what?" Draco asked. "Giving them a free pass if they hunt you down?"

"No," Dumbledore said. "The vampires, werewolves, hags...the ones Fudge collects simply disappear."

"The ones that run," Shacklebolt added, "the ones who don't make it in time--they're just killed in the street."

"Ah," Draco said in understanding. "Light wizards dragging down dark creatures. The same tired refrain we know so well."

"You said werewolves," Harry said, putting a hand on Draco's before he said something irrevocably offensive about history. "What about vampires and hags? What about any of the magic creatures, actually?"

"My pack is about twenty-five werewolves," Lupin said. "That's all that's made it to me so far. As for the others, not enough to make much of a difference either way. Both are beginning to starve for blood or human flesh."

Harry startled, and Draco gave him an amused look but said nothing. Did he never listen to the fairy tales Draco told him? Hags ate children. Without the ministry to provide naturally dead corpses, of course the more cannibalistic creatures would go hungry. He doubted any of them had ever had to hunt their own food in their whole lives, like muggles who ate pizza and never knew where the sausage came from.

"I have my entire community," Draco said. "They all stand with us, down to the last man. That will be about fifty wizards and witches. But against the ministry, we will need more."

"I took the liberty of sending for one other," Dumbledore said, but he did not look confident about it. "However, while he said he would attend, he refused the portkey I offered. I admit, I am not entirely sure how a centaur will reach this place."

A low murmur went through the group, quickly drowned out be the rain again.

"A centaur," Harry echoed. "I thought they didn't care about wizards."

"They don't," Dumbledore said. "As a rule. Poor Firenze was ostracized after he taught at Hogwarts. And yet one approached me about this meeting, so I suspect that they already knew what we were planning."

"This doesn't make sense," Draco said. "Why would they bother? They can see the future. They already know how this is going to turn out."

A soft thump came from the side of the stage. They all turned, again raising their wands but then standing slowly, lowering their hands as they spotted the movement from the curtain hanging limping against the wall. Horse hooves clopped on the old floorboards. Soaked but looking as if the rain didn't bother him, a tall centaur, black maned with his head held high, walked into glow of their lumos charms.

"Not quite." The centaur looked over each of them in turn, standing several heads above them, slowly circling them. "This little war between your kind is not so little, it seems."

"Magorian," Dumbledore said, tipping his head. "You honor us with your visit."

"Indeed," the centaur said, coming to a halt and pacing one hoof impatiently. "Is this all of your secret cabal?"

"Only our commanders," Lupin said, standing as straight as he could. "We each have our own forces, but we meet here to plan our attack."

"I see that," Magorian nodded, but his lip curled as he narrowed his eyes. "Humans plotting with humans."

"And werewolves," Lupin pointed out. "And vampires, and hags—"

"Werewolves against your will," Magorian chuckled humorlessly. "Beings are not beasts, nor 'filthy half-breeds' as I recall. I'd hoped to see goblins or elves, but even with the odds so stacked against you, you show no willingness to ask help from those you would call animals. I have wasted my time here."

He turned sharply, cantering up the aisle and smashing broken crystals underfoot. The others made a noise of loss and Lupin took an ineffective step forward, but Magorian showed no sign of turning. Draco felt their best chance for success slipping away and called out before he stopped to think better of what he was about to do.

"We prefer to ask half-breeds who don't run off so quickly," he called out.

Magorian came to a halt so fast his hooves slid, and he turned with a look of angry disbelief.

"What did you say?" he asked, incredulous and reddening, his shock turning to a snarl.

"Couldn't hear over your own clip-clopping?" Draco asked.

Behind him, Dumbledore made a strangled sound that couldn't quite form into words. Harry turned and stared at him, jaw hanging in shock, mirroring the rest of their reactions. As Magorian came slowly back down the aisle, stomping his hooves for effect, Draco went and jumped off the stage, walking up to meet him.

"Oh God," Harry whispered behind him. "He's going to make me fight a centaur for him."

"No one calls me a half-breed," Magorian snarled, looming over Draco. "I have killed for less than that."

"But would you kill an unarmed wizard?" Draco asked as he held up his empty hands. "I've no wand. Let them write that down in your list of great deeds. Slaughtered one undersized Malfoy."

"Some would consider that an act of charity to the world at large," Magorian threatened. "Why should I not stomp you into the ground?"

"You're here for a reason," Draco said. "I want to know why."

"I will not deal with a filthy wizard," Magorian said, putting weight on his haunches as if he meant to rear up and slash at Draco, "who deals in slurs."

"I always thought," Draco said as if he didn't have a centaur towering over him, "that half-breeds used the term fondly, as a way of reclaiming the word from the ministry."

"Yes, amongst ourselves—"

Magorian stopped in midsentence, and his lifted hooves came down mere inches from Draco, planting safely back on the ground. He looked askance at him, staring as if he might see past an illusion charm.

"Explain yourself quickly," Magorian demanded. "I am out of patience."

Putting his hands up to his cloak, Draco untied the clasp and let the cloth puddle around the boots he was already toeing off. His shirt landed next, and then he put one hand on the hem of his pants. He froze.

"You better appreciate this," he muttered. "This is...damned revealing."

"It's all right," Harry said, coming up behind him. He spread his own cloak over Draco, hiding him from the wizards. "I'm right here."

"Good," Draco said between grit teeth.

As he shed his pants, he took a deep breath and forced the change over himself. His legs fused into a slender tail, his arms and torso grew slightly longer and from his fingernails curled gleaming claws. His teeth ached with newly sharpened fangs and his eyes tugged at the corners, creating slitted pupils. Most agonizing was how his skin rippled over twisting sinews, and he arched his back in the mad rush of sensation, held only by Harry's arms.

Magorian breathed in sharply at the final sight, half human and half snake, completely covered in mother of pearl scales. Limp and panting, Draco lay in Harry's arms, his head hanging from exertion. Unable to resist, Magorian gently nudged one hoof at the tip of Draco's tail just to make certain it was real.

"Half-breed wyvern," the centaur whispered. "We suspected you dark wizards had done something irrevocable to yourselves, but we could never see for sure."

"Unlike the rest of you," Draco said, not looking up, "we wanted a hand in government. So we kept it secret."

"How?" Magorian asked. "Centaurs see by the stars and planets. Your own petty actions cannot hide the celestial machinations, yet we could not see you do this."

Draco would have answered, but he heard the wizards coming slowly after them. "Can we talk about this another time? This isn't the spectacle I wanted to make of myself tonight."

Giving him another look, Magorian grudgingly nodded and stepped back. "We will talk about this again," he warned Draco, "but for now I will listen to you. This, at least, answers some of my questions."

Though it cost him seconds in staying a snake, Draco leapt at the chance comment. Answers were why he had changed at all.

"What questions? You said you couldn't see the outcome of this battle, 'not quite'." Draco shifted on the cold floor, putting his arms around Harry's neck.

Before Magorian could answer, the witch with the eyepatch gasped sharply.

"Merlin, it's true," she said, gawking at him. "Dark wizards are—"

"—more complex than we realized," Dumbledore cut in over her. "Shall we return to the stage? We have much to plan."

None of them wanted to talk about the war, suddenly distracted by a pearlescent Malfoy draped in Harry Potter's arms, but a stern look from the headmaster and Lupin's duty-bound nod had them moving back up onto the stage. Magorian snorted and stepped around Draco and Harry, jumping up onto the stage with such ease that they felt the power in his frame as he made the walls rattle.

"You can change back," Harry said softly. "I think Magorian'll talk to you if you do, and I'll keep them from seeing you."

Draco nodded once, but he closed his eyes and lay still for a moment, curling against Harry. His husband was warm, cradling and covering him, and Draco had a flashback of resting in Harry's hands, curled comfortably in his palm. It didn't help that he'd slithered halfway across the town. This last transformation had taken a lot out of him.

Perhaps too much. He frowned and concentrated, but nothing happened. With cold panic creeping up his spine, Draco tried to shed his snake shape, then tried again.

"Oh hell," he whispered.

"What?" Harry looked around in case Draco had spotted something.

"I want to go home," Draco muttered. "Right now. To hell with the war, I want to go home."

Stunned, Harry stared at him and tightened his grip. "What? Wait, do you really...Draco, do you really mean that?"

To the bottom of his heart, yes, Draco thought. He pulled Harry's cloak, black and long enough to cover most of him, around himself like a shield. No one had ever seen him like this, save his closest friends and Harry, and then to reveal himself so brazenly... He felt sick, in freefall, as if he'd hurled himself off a cliff and dragged everyone he knew with him.

"Carry me," Draco said, hugging Harry tight. "There's glass everywhere."

"But aren't you going to...?" Harry's voice trailed off as he figured it out. "You're stuck?"

"Too much being a snake lately," Draco said, forcing a half-smile. "Probably have to shed my skin soon, too."

"You picked a damn fine time for this," Harry said, but he smiled to soften it. "At least you're lighter this way."

Hefting Draco into the air, Harry waited for him to adjust the cloak over his tail, then pull the cloak up towards his chest as if cold. With the hood over his head, only a small amount of skin showed, and his eyes glittered out of the darkness under the cloth.

"You look like a black silkworm," Harry chuckle once, then nuzzled Draco's hair. "Were you serious about going home?"

Under his breath, Draco mumbled 'yes' and wished Harry could take over talking with the annoying bastards still staring at him. Home was warm, home meant tea and little cakes and civilized conversation, if his parents weren't flinging those little cakes and teas at each other. Home, even in wintry Germany, was far more pleasant than a leaky opera house, half-flooded and half-frozen.

"No," Draco grumbled. "Let's go plan this war out."

Smiling in relief, Harry hugged him and carried him back, holding him without complaint. The others looked on with obvious questions, but Magorian paced self-consciously.

"You need not carry on so," the centaur said. "I will not force you to stand on ceremony now that I know you are like us."

"I appreciate the gesture," Draco said, doing an admirable job of keeping annoyance from coloring his voice. "But I must spend the foreseeable time in this shape. This isn't mere animagus shifting. Revealing this body has a price."

"Then I regret forcing you to change," Magorian said. "You are clearly no Melusine, and this is a poor time to be locked in an aquatic body."

How radically the centaur's manners changed, and only for Draco himself, he noticed, as Magorian refused to so much as snort at the wizards. Draco shrugged it off. A plan began to form in his mind, but he would have to keep from looking into his husband's eyes. Somehow Harry always spotted his schemes, and Draco could not let this opportunity slip away.

"We need to figure out our strategy," Lupin said, and he spread his hands over the map to flatten it better. "And most important, I think, is where we force Fudge to face us. Not the ministry, certainly. Hogwarts, perhaps?"

Harry groaned. "No offense, but I don't think the school can take another fight. All the magic's out of it. One more fight and it'll probably fall over."

"There is that great chamber you two found," the witch with the eye-patch said. "Couldn't we trap them inside like you did to Bellatrix and her followers?"

Despite that his aunt had tried her best to kill him, Draco flinched and turned his head. Bellatrix had died the way he'd been meant to, drowning in an ever deepening cage of black water, and the memory still rattled him. Thinking about her meant imagining her body cascading out with the waterfall over the edge of a broken wall, her bulging eyes staring at him in hate.

"That was before the castle lost its magic," Draco murmured. "All of its magic spilled out into the lake."

"Hogsmeade then?" Shacklebolt suggested. "Although I hate to fight among civilians..."

"No good. Fudge knows that place," Lupin said, then slammed his hands on the table. "Hell, everyone knows that place. And Hogwarts, and Hogsmeade, and the ministry and...damn. We need someplace that they won't know where to suspect ambushes or traps."

"I don't suppose," Dumbledore said, looking up at Magorian, "that the centaurs might overlook a battle in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Destroy our forest for your war?" the centaur scoffed, stomping his hooves gingerly on the warped floorboards. "Fight your battles on your own land."

As the other wizards argued, Draco held silent a moment. He'd already discussed this long into the morning with his parents, and they'd received word back from the various families in approval. He was unsure, though, of how eager he should be to offer help or material for this war. Still...he looked around at the opera house.

"Here, I think," he said, breaking into their conversation, "will be the besst place."

He winced, ducking their stares. He couldn't suppress his hissing tongue, and Nymphadora flinched at the sound.

"Oh, thank Merlin," she breathed, hugging herself and turning away to press against Lupin.

Thank Merlin that she had no half-blood in her, he was sure. Better hope you don't give birth to a litter of wolves, Draco thought, but he had the good sense not to say it out loud. Let the idiot chain herself to a poor werewolf. Being the snake everyone thought him to be had its uses, and Harry, at least, loved his scales.

"Thiss opera house," he said. "It's big enough to fight in, easily set with traps, and...its paths run deep."

"'Paths'?" Shacklebolt echoed. His eyes widened before they narrowed, and he sighed in resigned frustration. "Merlin, this is a dark place, isn't it?"

"It used to be," Draco said. "Your lot took it centuries ago, but the old tunnels remain."

The wizards looked around at the broken ceiling, the overgrown walls, and the look in their eyes clearly said they wanted more time to examine the opera house now that they knew it was not entirely theirs. But there was no argument, no other suggestions, and discussion quickly gave way to tactics and strategy.

"We will need time," Dumbledore said, voicing everyone's thoughts. "To gather our forces and prepare."

"We can't take forever," Shacklebolt said. "Fudge is cementing his power as we speak. We have to move fast before he manages to entrench himself."

"Has he taken Hogsmeade?" Draco asked. "Just taking Knockturn Alley should have proved costly."

"With all the curses your lot left behind, you mean," the witch with the eye-patch said. "They lost a few wizards, but then they just burned the stores down. There's nothing left there, just ashes."

Ashes of a thousand dark ingredients, Draco thought, and the next person to walk through that mess would probably suffer some terrible transformation or deadly curse. If the rain didn't clean it out, they would have to clear it away-

Later, he told himself. Win the war first, then think about rebuilding.

"If there's nothing else," Draco said, "then I need to go. We have a lot of preparations to make."

"I don't like attacking all of them at once," Shacklebolt said. "I would really like to split up Fudge's aurors."

"I don't think any of us will argue," Lupin said. "Think of a distraction. The next time we meet, we prepare for battle."

Saying it made it sound more final, more true. A heavy silence fell on them, each of them wondering in their own hearts what they would have to do and what the fight would bring. All of them knew people in Fudge's army, old friends or acquaintances who would have to fall for them to win.

Magorian, however, did not have that problem. Once assured that their planning together was done, he turned and began heading down the aisle once more. Draco flicked his tail against his husband's side, quietly nudging him to follow.

"Got another scheme up your sleeve?" Harry whispered, carrying him after the centaur.

"Something like that," Draco murmured. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to—"

"—leave you alone with a grouchy centaur?" Harry said. "Not bloody likely. I'm not sure which of you is more dangerous."

"I'm not planning anything bad," Draco hissed. "Not really."

"Your definition of bad," Harry said with a long suffering sigh, "and mine never seem to match."

At the door leading to the grand staircase, Magorian turned and waited as if he didn't feel the rain, looking more at ease among the long vines and grass that sprouted in the ruined carpet. He watched them come closer, scowling until Harry stopped at a respectful distance. Lifting his head proudly, Magorian gave a dismissive glance at the other wizards to make sure they weren't coming, then stared at Draco.

"You are lucky your gambit worked," Magorian said. "I did not lie when I said I have killed for less insult."

"I forget how proud some people still are," Draco said. "I've taken so much abuse for my dark nature and half-blood that the insults don't sting as much."

"That half-blood earns you some respect," Magorian said. "But not enough for my kind to join your battle. Dark wizards are a different breed of wizard, nothing more."

"I don't expect you to join the battle," Draco said. "I don't think any of them do. We certainly didn't think any of your kind would attend, especially not...well, your feelings about humans are well known."

Magorian snorted. "The forest is ours, and the land your school stands on, too. If both sides in your conflict kill each other, so much the better."

"Then why did you come?" Harry asked, interrupting Draco's planned flow for the conversation. He didn't notice his husband's glare from under the cloak.

Magorian frowned, staring up through the cracked ceiling at the stars. The rain had not paused, but here and there, breaks in the clouds showed a sparkling field of black. Harry followed his look, and he wondered what the centaur saw in their faint light.

"Normally your future is clear," Magorian said softly. "Your destinies move hand in hand with the world's, charted and understood as much as the future can be. But once in a rare while, even though we can read the rest of the world, your destiny runs off-kilter, and each time the reason is veiled so we cannot see why."

"You came to try to understand it," Draco realized. "Something's hidden from you again."

"Yes," Magorian nodded. "The last time was many centuries ago. The last time your two sides waged war, I believe."

Draco grew very still. "The battle of Camlann. Between Mordred and Arthur."

"That is the one." Magorian looked back at him. "Did you follow me for a reason?"

"I have something to ask of you," Draco said, raising his clawed hand to forestall Magorian's immediate refusal. "Something in your interest, and it isn't for the sake of this fight at all."

Magorian turned to completely face them, interested despite himself. "And that is?"

With a quick glance at Harry, warning him to be silent and praying he would be, Draco took a deep breath.

"While the dark and light wizards are distracted with fighting each other," he said, "the centaurs and anyone else you can get should attack and destroy the ministry headquarters."

"What?" Harry breathed, staring at him in shock. "But...but that..."

"'But' nothing," Draco snapped. "The wizengamot nearly locked you up, too."

Turning back to Magorian, he found the centaur turning a surprised circle, then calming down again. His tail flicked back and forth, betraying the excitement sparked in him, and he wordlessly considered Draco's offer for several long seconds. As he turned the thought over in his head, he then bent low to gaze intently at Draco as if he might study him.

"Why would you ask this of me?" he demanded. "I want your reasons."

"My kind hate the ministry," Draco said, "and the world will be better with it gone. What more reason do I need?"

"You ask me to attack the stronghold of the wizarding world itself," Magorian snarled. "There better be a stronger reason. You want the artifacts inside, no doubt."

Sighing as if put upon, Draco shook his head. "They would be a nice bonus, but no. The ministry has hounded the dark community far worse than yours. You are not nearly extinct. We are. And if you won't, then if I survive, I will do it myself. One way or another, I will not see dark wizards die only for the ministry to rear up yet again."

His snarl fading, Magorian stood straight and regarded him for a long moment.

"You would complete Morgan's work," he said, glancing at Lupin and Dumbledore still on the stage. "The end of her war against Merlin. Will you turn on the light after your ministry has fallen?"

"No," Harry said over Draco, glaring at him so he didn't argue and holding him too tightly. "We are not fighting Lupin. He's our friend."

Draco's cocked eyebrow meant he didn't agree, but Harry had not crossed him about the ministry. He would not contradict Harry on this. His heart sang in triumph. Oh, but Fudge had created a powerful enemy when he had harassed Draco's husband.

Magorian turned an anxious circle, looking at Draco for a long time, then turned again and walked quickly toward the stairs, vanishing before he had to take a step. Whatever magic the centaurs used to travel carried him away, and if he would fulfill Draco's hopes went unanswered.

"We need to talk," Harry snapped.

"No," Draco said, putting his hand on Harry's cheek. "We need to plan. Scold me later if you want, but we need to prepare first."

"Fine," Harry said, and his face grew hot under Draco's palm. "But when we're done..."

The threat hung over them. As Harry flung the invisibility cloak over them both, Draco hung onto him with both arms and clung close for warmth, shivering as the cold wind and rain struck them full on. His husband's grip was angry and tight, pressing hard enough to bruise, but as Harry carried him across the street and down the sidewalk, he soon readjusted his hold so that Draco sat more comfortably in his hands.

"Do you hate me?" Draco asked in a small voice.

"Of course not," was the immediately reply. "But you...you really make it hard sometimes."

Draco didn't answer. He wrapped his tail around Harry's waist, closing his eyes. His husband would hold onto his anger for the rest of the night, no doubt, and he hated to push him further. Push too hard, he knew, and Harry might balk and call it all off, but Draco needed to know.

"You won't tell them, will you?" he asked.

"Draco," Harry started, then broke off with a sigh. "No, I'm going to let you destroy my friends' world because of a thousand year old grudge."

"That's not fair—" Draco started, wounded that Harry would reduce everything down to a mere spat or tiff.

"I know," Harry snapped. "I know, I know—I get it. Just...don't talk to me right now. All the little weapons and charms your family is making now are vicious, just damned vicious, and then all this about the Ministry, and then lying to Lupin and...just be quiet. Please?"

Feeling more sick to his stomach than when everyone had seen his snake-like body, Draco nodded once and lay his head on Harry's shoulder. The walk to the portkey took only a moment, but they had to take multiple portkeys through to France and then to Germany, and Draco gently dug his claws into Harry's shirt to hold him close. To his relief, even while grumbling, Harry ran one hand in circles on his back, warming him against the cold.


	17. Wherein an oath is broken

Unsurprisingly, Draco crawled into the bath as soon as they arrived home, somehow planning a war from the safety of the tub. Refusing to come out of the bathroom, safely hiding his tail under the water and allowing no more than a single candle or two, he received and sent messages through Harry, slowly calling every dark wizard of fighting age to the house.

The gathering of dark wizards had all the air of a celebration. Far from being nervous, they worked busily through Narcissa's ancestral manor, casting jinxes on small trinkets and brewing potions which they poured their own blood into. Treating this as a grand night ride, perhaps the last one in England and the last one of all their lives, they meant to make a stand that their families would dream of for centuries to come.

A dozen cloth dolls, stuffed with hair and blood and fingernails, lay in a box, ready to be woken with a whisper to attack the wizards of the Ministry. Next to them, a myriad number of small bottles were sorted into groups—White Adder's Venom, Poisoned Dragon's Breath, Clawed Fire—so that they could be put into kits and handed out easily. Acorns had been gathered and grown into targets for the youngest Knights of Walpurgis to practice their attack spells now at the last minute. Their jinxes and curses rotted the vines, smashed through the knots of wood and reduced each target to shreds, making clear what would happen to any person unfortunate to be targeted.

All their preparations made Harry frown, though he said nothing. Every look he shared with Draco held an uneasy truce, knowing an argument brewed between them, one that neither could win because neither could change what they thought was right or wrong. But ultimately it was the simple mask that Harry balked at, taking a step back when Draco conjured it in the bathtub.

"I'm not wearing one," he muttered, glaring at the thing in Draco's hands. "Give it to someone else."

"You have to," Draco frowned, his own jaw set as he hissed in anger.

"I'm not a Death Eater," Harry snapped.

"Neither am I," Draco said, glad that Harry had shut the door before either of them started yelling. "Neither were most of the women and youngsters downstairs."

"That's not the point." Harry grumbled because he knew he'd worded it wrong. "I mean, it is the point, but—I am not going into any fight wearing one of those things. I spent half my life fighting against people in masks."

"I know," Draco said, narrowing his eyes. "Believe me, all of us know you used to fight us."

Harry sighed explosively and turned away, running his hand through his hair. "I'm not going to apologize for it—"

"And I'm not asssking you to," Draco snapped, though he tried to keep his voice down.

"But you want me to wear that—"

Harry gestured at the mask. Flat, featureless, it had two empty holes for his eyes and a grill over the mouth. He'd seen similar masks on the Death Eaters when they fought, and the only difference now was the lack of ornate designs or marks that could catch the light. The matte black finish was perfect for fighting in the darkness, like smooth, unpolished stone.

"Yes, this one," Draco said. "It's mine."

Breathing in once, Harry found he couldn't reply for a moment. "What...?"

"We all have one," Draco said. "Even if I never used it. Too young. It was one of the things in the cellar that didn't burn up."

"But..." Harry whispered. Not his own husband. "No, Draco, no..."

"You have to," Draco said. "I have my hood—"

"Oh, for God's sake!" Harry sighed again and went to the window, watching several dark wizards—he recognized a handful of them, some who had been at his wedding and some who had faced him at the end of a wand. "Draco—"

"We have the masks for a reason," Draco pressed. "If we go out there without them, how long do you think we'd last?"

"What're you on about?" Harry asked.

"During the fight," Draco said, "who do you think the ministry wizardss will go after? All the masked dark wizardss, or Harry bloody Potter?"

Harry didn't answer at first. He thought of answering that Lupin and the rest would be unmasked, but then Lupin's group wouldn't be in the midst of dozens of masked dark wizards. All of Draco's family and comrades would be cloaked, massing together like fish in a school, difficult to target. And Harry in the middle of it, maskless and easy to spot.

"I don't want to," Harry said softly. "I can't."

Draco didn't know how to force him. His husband had renounced Merlin and the Ministry in his wedding vows, but Draco couldn't throw that in Harry's face. The reason to wear it was obvious, as was Harry's absolute dislike of the mask.

"Isn't there anything else?" Harry asked.

"I..." Draco faltered. He met Harry's look, wishing he hadn't lied to his husband before so that he could believably lie to him now. He had a thought, and as much as he would feel safer with Harry wearing a mask, there was something else he could offer.

"Your invisibility cloak," he said after a moment. "Can...can you keep it from falling off?"

"It doesn't take spells," Harry said, shaking his head. "S'why I don't trust it in a fight. Comes off too easy."

Draco nodded once. "Could it be pinned? Harry, I don't want you wearing it—it's too easy to snag or fall, and I couldn't see you in the fight. I might—any of us might hit you with a stray spell. Or if you fall and we don't notice—"

"'We'?" Harry echoed, grasping on a different thought. "What do you mean 'we'? You're not going out there. Not like this."

Harry waved at Draco's tail, hidden under the water. Even in the candle light, the tail was obvious, a long and lean shape under the surface that went still as Draco pretended it wasn't there.

"I have to," Draco said as if Harry was stupid. "I—"

"How?" Harry demanded. "Magic yourself up some legs? Look, just stay here with your mother. You can send word through the diary—"

"You can't run a war through messages!" Draco snapped.

"Then how are you going to—"

"—my broom," Draco said as he thought of it.

Harry sat by him, gently patting the spot where Draco's side became a tail. Hissing, Draco felt a flush coloring his cheeks, and he turned his head. He couldn't slither out of Harry's reach, and the warm hand felt delicious on his skin, enough to make his tail curl.

"You're a great quidditch player," Harry murmured. "But you still have to hold onto the broom with your legs."

Draco met his look evenly, baring his fangs out of indignation as his tail did little flips. And as his husband began to smile, sure that he would give in to logic, Draco suddenly breathed out and composed himself.

Harry frowned. Not good.

Then Draco leaned forward, sitting up and pulling himself forward over his bottom half so that Harry cringed, thinking he'd hear Draco's knees and bones breaking. But the snake tail bent smoothly and, after a little adjusting, Draco managed to pull himself up, facing Harry with his tail curled around himself.

"Ssorry," Draco said, smiling in smug self-satisfaction. "I think I can keep my balance-"

The effect was marred as he slipped on the tiles and pitched forward, landing on his husband's chest. His face burned in embarrassment, but the chuckle from Harry was good-natured, more of a rueful sigh as Harry held him upright.

"Fine," Harry said, kissing the top of his head. "Show me you can ride a broom with just one hand. And...and I'll let you fight."

Draco's tail flipped again. 'Let him'?

An hour later, as the dark wizards finished parceling out their weaponry and dark artifacts, standing in the front garden and cheering each other on, Draco was on his besom, its vines curled securely around his tail and balancing him as good as if he had legs. His robe draped over the side, hiding his lower half, and the hood threw heavy shadows over his face. Hardly anyone could see his face, even if they probably guessed what he looked like under his robe.

He looked over his little army and felt his stomach twist. So few... If he'd thought last year that he'd be facing the ministry with such a pitiful number, he'd have given up hope of keeping their home and instead urged everyone to sail across the Atlantic to Roanoke. Not that there was no hope entirely, but the odds were so painfully stacked against them.

"We're ready," Lucius said, coming forward from the crowd. Severus stood beside him, and would probably spend the entire battle at his side. "Everyone who is coming is here."

Draco nodded once. He felt his mother's presence at the windows, but he didn't glance at her. If he saw the fear in her eyes, he wouldn't be able to go.

"Then we sstart now," Draco said, reciting the plan that they already knew. "Send our assassinsss. Leave an easy trail back to the opera house. We'll be there waiting."

Lucius brought the mask to his face, and with a whisper, it remained in place as if fixed. One by one, so did each dark wizard, until finally Draco put on his own, setting the dark stone against his skin.

What an instant change the mask brought. No longer himself, Draco felt the cool freedom of anonymity, of becoming the dark wizard that drove fear into the world, the legendary monster of the light wizards. No wonder his parents had always looked forward to night rides, grinning with nervous excitement just before they and the other parents left their children safe at home.

Draco felt a little twinge of sadness. If all went well, this might be the last night ride of their lives. Of course if things did not go well, it could be the last night of their lives.

"You have your portkeys," Lucius said to his Knights, taking command. "If there are any changes, we'll send word."

Lucius and Severus vanished first with the soft pop of a portkey spell, followed immediately by the rest of their team. Comforting himself that they had successfully assassinated many other officials in the past, Draco took his own portkey and held it up, prompting all the rest to follow suit.

"Wait," someone said. "Where's Potter? Isn't he coming with us?"

Draco paused and raised his head slightly. This was what he was afraid of, one more uncertainty in a night where he couldn't afford to not know anything.

"I can't see you," he said to the night air. "Where are you?"

The whisper of rustling cloth came from his left. Invisibly, Harry hovered close and gently nudged Draco so that everyone saw him move.

"I'm here," Harry said loud enough for everyone to hear. "I won't leave your side."

"Bloody hell," someone—-Goyle, Draco realized—-said. "He really does have an invisibility cloak."

"But if we can't see him," another witch—-Miriam, and Draco felt relieved he could tell so many just by their voices. "Then we might hit him."

"Try not to blast anywhere too close to me," Draco said. "He'll be right on my tail—remember, he's a passing fair seeker."

A few snorts followed, and then the faint pops of portkey spells. A moment later, they all stood back in their home country, miles from the opera house on the edge of town, and they scanned the road and homes around them to be sure they were alone. Then, alone or in pairs, they fanned out through the muggle neighborhood and disappeared into the shadows, sneaking through gardens and darting along alleys in case the ministry had somehow learned of their plans and lay in wait.

"It'll take about half an hour to get into position," Draco murmured, knocking the end of his tail against the besom. The broom hesitated, still adjusting to the tail, then went up to a thick cloud overhead. Draco shivered but didn't complain. A little cloud was nothing compared to a blizzard.

"And then what?" Harry whispered by his side. "Your father'll come back with all those wizards on his tail."

"Then we pick them all off from the dark," Draco said, pausing. "You should know this—you helped come up with it."

"Not that," Harry said. "I know the plan all right. It's just...it's different being out here. We were working out our plans and everyone was pieces on the map, but now that we're here—Draco, we can't kill everyone. I can fight this thing, but I don't know what we do afterward."

"Oh."

Draco didn't answer at first, coming down swiftly towards the opera's roof. They landed behind the raised facade of elaborate stone scrollwork, giving them a good view of the street below. Beside them, a black bird cawwed and bobbed its head.

"Good, you're still here," Draco said to the bird. "We need you on the other side by the park—there's no one covering the corner there."

Vaisey, still undercover in his animagus state, cawwed again in acknowledgement and flapped off. Draco watched him go, then turned his attention to the streets around them.

He'd never cared before about the way muggles lay out their towns. As long as they were kept separate from his own world, he didn't want anything to do with them, content to pass overhead on his broom or safely nestled in a carriage. But now he had to face how close he lived to the vermin, and the sight of it set him on edge.

Looking over the streets was much different from simply looking at a map. There was the opera house, and the road before it that ran off into the distance both ways, wide in front of the opera to allow for all the traffic. Directly in front of them was a gray muggle structure that Severus had said was an office building, and beside that was an empty park with a few benches and some pitiful bushes. The whole area left little in the way of cover to duck behind, perfect for an ambush.

But Draco felt how keenly they were pressed against the muggle world, surrounded on all sides by the filthy things who didn't attack wizards simply because they didn't know the wizards were there. This place had been solely theirs, once—a place of dark power where a god once dwelt, now grown over with muggles like choking weeds.

So what if they won this war? Hogwarts was dead, emptied of its power, and without a school, the wizarding world would fragment and die out. Already the muggles claimed so much of England and the world, edging out magic like one more endangered species. And if muggles ever remembered the wizards...Draco shivered.

A hand clasped Draco's shoulder, and Draco glanced at Harry who had been abused by muggles and yet still treated them as well as people. The obscenity of it rankled in Draco's heart, that the Boy Who Lived had spent years with those monsters.

"Draco?"

He still hadn't answered Harry's question. Frowning, he found that all his focus was on the muggle threat lurking just beyond the wizarding world, and then realized that was his answer.

"We need to make it rain," Draco said. He looked up at Harry, growing increasingly excited the more he thought about it. "Yes, we have to make it rain, a real storm. Huge sheets of it coming down."

"'Rain'?" Harry echoed, looking up at the clear stars. "I don't think-"

"Yes, rain!" Draco said with the growing confidence. He'd never cast a rain spell--indeed, he didn't even know if one existed.

He mused on other spells he knew, picking them apart in his head. Bludregnian to bring forth blood from a long dead body, egeflod to cause uncontrollable weeping, styrman, haegl, breken... He couldn't just stick two words together.

Regnian...he could start with regnian, then add flod...but no, he needed to start with the sky.

He'd have to make a song. Not that he'd ever made one. But he'd seen Lucius write a handful of them, crossing out words and revising in new ones, and surely that was enough?

Sceo...twist? No, break. Sceo broken an regnian...

A sick urgency welled up in him. His father and Severus and all their knights could portkey there in an hour, or a handful of minutes. The entire war was about to break out right here in front of him, and he was trying to create a stupid song that probably wouldn't even work.

He shut his eyes and forced himself to focus. He had practiced magic for his whole life, practiced the potions, practiced the casting and practiced the words a thousand times over. He knew the translations. If he thought of it in English, sky break and rain flood-

"Sceo breken an regnian flod," he said out loud, tasting magic on his tongue. Old words, raw words called out to the power in the air and twisted it like clay. How easy the song suddenly came, as if he had been fluent all along and never realized it.

"Crase dune stein waeter," he continued. He didn't even have to think of the words in English first, nor translate them in his mind as he spoke. "Drifan min enemi aweg."

Draco felt his husband's hand on his arm, heard him ask something, but Harry's voice felt distant. The night wind-as wild as if it had been blown in from a strange country-swirled around them and picked up speed.

Clouds gathered, rolling with the wind, blotting out the stars and the moon until the muggle streetlamps were all that was left, pale golden circles more dirt than light.

"Sky break and rain flood," he said again, "crash down stone water and drive my enemy away."

As if watching himself from far away, he had the dim understanding that he was not speaking in English. The old language came to him as naturally as his own tongue. Harry asked if he was all right, his words hard to make out through the growing wind, and Draco paused in his spell to reassure him "yis, ic fin."

Then Harry was shaking his shoulder roughly, shouting, leaning over him to cast spell after spell. Casting curses, judging from the light, and Draco realized that the battle had started without him. Lucius and Severus had brought Fudge and his loyalists, and the dark wizards were closing the trap.

Draco no longer cared. There was something right in the water, something proper and correct in the rain coming down right this moment at this place. More than right--the rain wanted to come down, wanted to grow into a raging storm. All Draco had to do was let it.

"Since shadows cast and night I draw," Draco whispered in a rush, "hence rain and cleanse my soul, crashing like stones to drive my enemies away."

How beautifully his new spell merged with his cleansing spell! One flowed into the other like two rivers joining, like two storm clouds rumbling together. Rain struck his head and face in heavy drops, coursed down his body in rivulets, and he heard it rushing through the streets.

Again he recited the spell, cleansing himself and casting magic at the same time. The thrill of this accidental discovery exhilarated him, bearing him up even as the rain turned painfully hard. There were yells and shouts below, and he hoped he wasn't drowning his own men. He couldn't make out whose voice was whose over the growing scream of the wind, the sheer howling pressure as the current flew between buildings. There was the sound of breaking glass and wood and stone cracking.

Only when he felt the opera house shudder around him did he look up and see his work.

Already weakened by the exploding chandelier and the steady decay after being abandoned, the walls buckled under the hammering of the storm. Flecks of brick peeled away, stone buckled under furious water, and the rain slashing along the streets cut a groove against the foundation.

The opera house moaned, and Draco turned his attention from the rain to the building. The opera house had to be destroyed. If anyone had asked him why, he wouldn't have been able to to explain. He simply knew. Pointing his wand to the widening hole in the roof, he took aim at the grass covered rug and floor.

"Faellen," he said, his voice lost to the wind, but the spell shrieked down and burst against the foundation.

The opera house screamed with torn metal, collapsing stone, and then the roof fell away leaving Draco hovering in the air. A flurry of cloth covered him, shielding him from sight, and Harry's warmth made him realize how icy the rain was.

Below them, the rest of the opera house came apart and floated down the street. A buffet of wind nearly took Draco off his besom despite the vines coiling around his tail, and he saw that it wasn't the exultation of new magic that had made him excited. He had literally brought down a hundred year storm in the middle of the muggle town, and the energy of the wind and water all glittering in the moonlight made him feel like part of it.

Finally the opera was nothing more than a foundation that soon lifted from its keystone and began to drift away in chunks, revealing a deep basement that swirled like a trapped whirlpool. And in the center of that whirlpool...

Draco narrowed his eyes, peering into the white waters, and he carefully guided his besom down toward it. Beside him, Harry cursed loud enough to hear over the thunder and matched his flight, shielding him from view. Draco didn't know if the fight was still going on. He couldn't see the streets for the heavy sheets of rain coming down, though he did see bursts of colored lights reflecting off the water.

As the last of the opera house broke away, leaving bare ground behind, one last chunk remained, but it wasn't concrete or stone. Or rather it was a large slab of black rock, as long as a coffin, jutting up from the pool that the basement had become. It shone in the light of the spells around them, and Draco felt himself drawn towards it, fighting the wind, reaching out one hand to touch the black surface-

Quiet.

As if he'd snapped his fingers, the rain vanished.

The sound of the flood faded.

Draco turned and looked around himself. Harry was gone, the other wizards were gone, and the rain was gone, leaving behind a gray sun. Dry, dusty fields spread out in all directions, with a tattered fence off in the distance and the wind blowing dust and heat. There was no one for miles, not even the faint smoke of a chimney. Just flat, endless fields of dust crumbling in the pale glare.

And by the coffin rock, the first sacrifice stood in front of him, her black hair turning brown in the light. He saw her not as the creature of magic she had become, but what she had been, a skinny teenager standing barefoot in the dirt, her homespun shirt reaching to her knees.

Behind her, a woman in a blood-red dress sat on the stone and stared at the sky, one hand shielding her eyes from the sun. As he watched, she began to unbraid her hair, letting the black waves spill down her shoulder. She stroked them once, fanning them out over her dress, before braiding them back up.

Morgan le Fey, Draco thought, his breath catching. "But why-?"

She turned, staring at him with milky white eyes that saw through him, then slipped off the rock and vanished. In the brief moment, Draco had spotted the dark stain on the front of her gown. Even on such a red dress, he recognized the stamp of spilled blood.

"Sacrifice," he said needlessly.

So that was why she had vanished, leaving her community and the battle and Mordred. She had come here and killed herself.

He looked back at the first sacrifice, and now she was covered in her cuts, naked and slashed to the bone. Her blood ran down her arms and dripped off her fingertips into the ground, turning dust to mud.

"This is the place," Draco murmured, more to himself than her. "This was the field."

When he'd first told Harry that the Bredgett Opera House was one of their dark places, he hadn't known how right he was. It was the first place where dark magic truly began. But why had Morgan come here? She'd died right when they needed her most, at the battle of Camlann between Mordred and Arthur.

Yes, he thought, understanding even as he asked the question. She died because of that need. The battle killed off many light wizards, but it was her sacrifice that kept their world turning, kept the dark wizards together and alive. Like Lily Potter had died for Harry, Draco thought. The oldest, strongest magic...to die so someone else might live.

A cold feeling welled up in his stomach. Mordred had battled Arthur, and Morgan had died for it. Now Harry and his family battled Fudge and the aurors, and here was Draco at the sacrificial spot. The parallels were too obvious to ignore.

"Why am I figuring this out?" Draco wondered, running one hand through his hair. "Why do I know this? Too coincidental, too-"

A memory of his dream struck him, and as he looked at the first sacrifice, a taste of thick iron filled his mouth.

"I drank your blood," he muttered, putting his hands over his mouth. "Oh Lord...like a goddamned mass. I drank her blood."

Like drinking magic from the source.

He took a step back. Twice now he'd slipped her grasp--brought back from drowning by Severus and then rescued from his own magic by Harry. Twice he'd escaped sacrificing himself, but here he stood in her field, her place of power, and there was no one to help him. For all he knew, the field could be an illusion and Harry could still have his arm around him. It didn't matter. Draco stood alone.

And dark wizards were on the cusp of dying out in England. Wasn't their survival worth his death? Wasn't this their promise, that the parents should die so the children should live? Breaking the oath of the wizarding world not to kill had created a dark oath just as sacred.

Something glinted in her hand. Sick at heart at what he knew he'd see, he glanced down despite himself. The knife lay in her palm, rusted with centuries of blood, the edge as sharp as when it had slashed her to pieces.

She turned the knife over, making him flinch even though he knew she wouldn't stab him. The blade faced her, its hilt towards him.

His throat turned dry. No, he wanted to say, to turn his back and refuse to die. She'd had her chance and he slipped her noose each time--wasn't that good enough? He'd fully intended to die at Hogwarts, had accepted his fate twice. It wasn't his fault that he'd been snatched back to life.

Her eyes were dead as a corpse as she extended the knife to him. Implacable, uncaring. He saw his future in her, in the soft vanishing of Morgan. A dead stare, no breath, an endless field soaking in his blood, and there would never be enough blood.

He took the knife, turned it over so the blade faced himself. Half-expecting her to motion for him to hurry up, he was a little relieved that she waited.

"Of course you'd wait," Draco whispered. "You don't care. You're used to waiting. All you do is wait."

She didn't move. Draco's stomach lurched. Ghosts were more alive than she was. Whatever sacrificial magic did, it did not leave behind a ghost. It left behind revenants, drowned in so much dark magic that they became dark magic. A dark soul trapped in a torn body.

He tightened his grip on the knife, felt the familiar handle of a skinning blade, the faint curve of its edge. Rust made the metal fragile, but it would serve. It would be useless to stab himself--the blade wouldn't chop into his ribs. He'd have to slice his throat. Or go through the side, under his heart.

Setting the point just under his chest, he took several breaths, steadying himself. One last deep breath--one hand pressed against the blade itself to guide it... He looked up and met her empty eyes, patiently waiting for him to fulfill the promised sacrifice.

In one quick stroke, drawing blood on his palm, Draco snapped the blade in half.

As abruptly as turning a page in a book, he was out of the field, back in the battle as the storm exploded over him, erupting out of his hands in a violent fury, and the lashing wind and rain struck him like whips, beating him down to his knees. He'd fallen into the flood. Water that was more like ice stole his breath away as it coursed over him.

He tried to see where he was, but the storm turned the sky black, lit only by flashes of lightning. He didn't see the muggle buildings or even the greens and reds of spells--only the silver gleam of water flowing around the black coffin rock.

Lightning again, and he froze, staring in shock. She was in front of him, still pouring blood, her eyes gouged out like fountains, blood pouring from her mouth, and she wasn't alone. Morgan stood beside her, her own wound bleeding, and beside her Mordred, his face covered in gore from the terrible split in his skull.

And beside Mordred, Draco's own ancestor Eason, a gash down his stomach so his entrails hung out, deep stabs in his chest from a muggle's pitchfork. Next to him, a witch burned so that she was a mass of bleeding charred skin. And another witch beside her, her head caved in, and another wizard, and when Draco looked around himself, he was surrounded by the dead, their eyes empty and their wounds bleeding like rivers.

Recoiling in fear, he thought to raise the broken knife against them only to find it crumbling to nothing in his fingers. As he looked at his hand, the lightning showed him that the rain was no longer water.

But they weren't attacking him. They weren't even moving. They stood still, staring down at him, emptying themselves of both blood and dark magic. Even the first sacrifice held her hands out as if offering herself once more, only this time releasing the magic that she had once gathered to her.

The storm began to calm, still raining heavily but no longer screaming, just droning endlessly with the low rumbles of increasingly distant thunder. No muggle streetlamps lit the road, but he saw faint lumos spells here and there dotting the darkness.

The coffin rock lay in front of him, and moving slowly for fear that the dead would lunge at him, he crept close and crawled clumsily up on top, finally seeing how far the gathered dead stretched. He couldn't see the end of them, all standing as still as gravestones, all showing the terrible way they each died. They stretched out in all directions, a vast field of his ancestors that had waited for centuries.

Finally, as the storm abated, they began to fade. He couldn't tell at first because of the deep night and the clouds, but as the rain turned to a mist, the dark wizards disappeared into the fog, vanishing with the light wind. Draco shivered as he turned, seeing if any were left behind. Only Eason and Mordred, and then Morgan, and then the first sacrifice, the last to go.

Her head tilted and the empty sockets of her eyes fixed on him. He expected anger or relief. Something. Voldemort had died spectacularly. Surely she would go in a burst of blood or scream or at least dive into the rock.

And then she was gone.

Not knowing what to do, Draco stared at where she had stood for several long seconds. She'd been here this whole time, and now she was gone. Heaven? Had that even been her real soul, or just a construct of dark magic?

"What in the bloody hell was that?"

Draco blinked. Was that a Weasley? Oh, right. He'd forgotten all about the fight. Someone lit a powerful lumos beside him and threw a cloak over his shoulders, although he didn't know why. The cloak was soaking wet and--oh. Oh dear. He noticed the way the breeze blew over him and pulled the cloak closer around his legs. Sometime during the deluge he had changed back without noticing.

"Draco?" Harry asked, trying to see his face. "Are you all right?"

"I..." As if he'd been shaken out of a deep sleep, Draco craned his head and squinted through Harry's spell. "Did you see it, too?"

"Nevermind that," Harry said breathlessly. "You need to do your cleansing ritual-"

"But you couldn't have missed them," Draco insisted. "There were hundreds of them all bleeding and-"

"Draco, look at yourself!" Harry yelled, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him once. "Your covered in dark magic."

So he was--positively dripping, Draco found. Dark magic coated him as if he'd rolled around in the mud, too thick to see most of his skin. And yet there was no pain, none of the crushing suffocation he'd felt before at Hogwarts. He scooped a handful of the black glop in one hand, letting it slide through his fingers. Pure dark magic. It felt a little like cold honey.

"Can you hear me?" Harry said. "Oh hell--scithenes sceadu-"

"It's all right," Draco interrupted him, putting his fingers to Harry's lips. "It's not hurting me...listen, can I borrow your wand?"

"It...it isn't hurting?" Harry asked. He narrowed his eyes, studying Draco. "Are you sure?"

"I'm not dying and I'm not mad," Draco assured him. "Promise. Your wand?"

"Um, Draco..." Harry looked over his shoulder, scanning the aurors and Knights. "I don't know if we're going to start fighting again."

Draco sighed in irritation. After what just happened, he couldn't be bothered to fight, not when he had just turned his entire world on its head. Didn't anyone feel the change that had just taken place? Or was the only one who had seen the dead wizards and the rain of blood? He looked at the wizards standing on the battlefield, thoroughly drenched like wet hens. A few of Lupin's lot were even holding sagging aurors against their shoulders--Draco frowned. And Nymphadora had even gone and rescued bloody Fudge. Brilliant. At least the bastard was unconscious.

"Fight's over," Draco said with so much confidence that he surprised himself. "Let me have your wand, just for a moment. I promise I'll give it back."

"I wasn't worried about that," Harry said, but he drew his wand and handed it over.

Draco didn't have to think about the spell, translating English to the old tongue. It simply came to mind as if he'd been born speaking it.

"Clathian."

He didn't even have to imagine the clothing he conjured--the darkness shaped itself into a tunic and pants with a belt to clasp it snug. It was little old fashioned, something he had seen in a dream perhaps. It certainly felt like homespun, not the soft material he usually favored, but it was perfectly tailored and, best of all, dry.

Standing up on the rock, he took a long look around himself. Yes, the buildings were gone, though not the entire town. Draco saw the outline of muggle houses against the stars, but the field itself was clear. If there had been muggles on the field when the fighting started, they had joined the pile of rubbish no doubt jammed at wherever the flood had ended.

"What on earth just happened?"

Hermione's question rang loudly through the group. Draco took a moment to see who was still standing. Most of Lupin's ragged group remained, the Weasley clan easy to spot among them, and Dumbledore's Order stood between them and the aurors, too well seasoned to drop their guard even if they had just survived a watery hell. His father's Knights slowly edged back together, murmuring amongst each other and figuring out who was who. Someone in the back of the group was jotting names down in a diary, and Draco wondered who in the dark families had managed to straddle the Knights and his mother's Children of Samhain.

He smiled. How easily the knowledge sprang to his mind now.

"You saw them, too?" he asked, raising his voice when he realized he had whispered. "All the dead?"

"Like a zombie movie," Hermione nodded. "I was on my broom. I couldn't see the end of them."

Draco hesitated, then decided he'd ask Harry what a zombie movie was later.

"I can't explain now," he said after a moment. "It'll take too long. We...we've stopped fighting, right?"

No one spoke for several seconds. And then in the back someone called out "you promise not to make it flood again?"

There were several nods of agreement. Draco was struck at how all sides suddenly felt such camaraderie in having survived the torrent and how all the will to keep up the battle had been ripped away. It probably helped that most of them knew each other and were friends before Fudge and culture brought them to blows.

"Merlin," one of the aurors groaned. "I didn't even know Fudge was rounding up other aurors."

"And forgive my asking," Dumbledore added, "but how did you summon the rain? That's not any spell I know of."

"And what was with those dead people?" Ron demanded again.

"I insist we discuss this indoors," Severus snapped, sounding like the wet cat that he resembled. "It's damn cold."

"Harry and I are staying," Draco said. "We need to keep the muggles out of this place and get them to move away, and I can't cast that kind of spell myself."

Severus pointedly looked over his shoulder at the washed out road where the muggle buildings and lamp posts had all floated away. "You cleared out their center. That isn't enough?"

Draco smiled tiredly. "Not for a school."

Dumbledore made a soft sound of understanding, quickly followed by Lucius and Lupin. And then no one was going home just yet.

The Battle of Bredgett, as it came to be known in later years, ended with all sides weary not from fighting but from surviving, and from another hour laying the charms that would repel muggles from the town. Draco didn't think that would be such a hard task considering how much of their government buildings and business district he'd just destroyed. And then everyone gave everyone else a wary, cautious look that threatened more fighting if anyone started flinging spells around, and they all portkeyed or apparated home. Not one casualty.

Draco and Harry were the last to leave, sitting side by side on the coffin-shaped rock. Draco leaned against his husband, drowsing on his shoulder, and Harry took Draco's hand and locked their fingers together.

"You're not gonna start dripping dark magic again, are you?" Harry asked as he rubbed Draco's hand, warming him. "You scared the hell out of me."

"I don't think so," Draco said. "I think I know how the dark lord managed to stay alive now."

"Voldemort? How?"

"Sheer power. He held enough magic that it sort of protected him against itself." Draco struggled to describe it. "Like taking so much poison that you get immune?"

"So you're as strong as him now?" Harry asked with a chuckle. "Care to duel?"

"No," Draco said quickly and laughed. "I think not."

The laughter faded, and the only thing they heard was the wind blowing over the field. Hollow and cold, the wind cut through his clothes and made him shiver. Draco put his free hand around Harry and held him close. He would've felt unutterably lonely if he didn't have his husband there. As if they were the only ones left in the world.

"You know I didn't mean to," Draco said, meeting Harry's eyes. "Right? I hate them, but I didn't mean to get rid of everything around us like that. I didn't even have control over the storm."

"I believe you," Harry reassured him. "You looked just as surprised as everyone. You will tell me what happened, right? You looked damned terrified for awhile there, and you wouldn't answer me."

"I will," Draco nodded. "Tomorrow. Today? I don't know what time it is... I'll explain everything when we wake up. I think I understand what I did now, why it worked out this way."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Dark magic was based on one very old oath." He closed his eyes and breathed out. "And I broke it."


	18. Wherein parents are useful

The endless work finally ended. When they arrived home, the sky had turned a fainter shade of night so that a painful gray glare cut through the windows and set Draco shivering more than the breeze over his wet robes. Weariness set in, dragging at him and tempting him to fall asleep on the hard wood floor.

A heavy blanket fell on his shoulders, soft and warm, and a chair appeared behind him into which he sank with a groan borne of a weariness he hadn't realized he felt. The dinner table appeared in front of him, and he only meant to rest his arms on it before his shoulders, then his head, sank down. He knew Harry had directed him here, but in his exhaustion, the dining room simply seemed to materialize around him. His eyes closed and the room began to fade.

"Oh no you don't," Severus warned him, setting a hot cup of tea in front of Draco with a clank. "No rest for stupid children who forget the plan and send a flood crashing down on their own side."

"It worked," Draco grumbled, too used to Severus' scoldings to react.

"Wake up before you're wearing that tea," Severus snapped, sitting down too close and leaning forward at him. "I don't care what the headmaster and the others think. You'd better have a damn good explanation-"

Narcissa, holding her own cup of tea in her hands, came from the kitchen and put her hand on her husband's shoulder, forcing Severus to sit straight. As she moved around her husband, she kept her hand there and sat beside him, tightening her grip so that he didn't try to loom over Draco again.

"I'm sure he does," Narcissa said, speaking over him with a grace borne of long practice. "But we must let him speak if we want to hear it."

"And I do want to hear it," Lucius said as he sat on Draco's other side. "About the flood, and what you meant about a school, and what those things were in the street."

His mention of the ghosts made Draco shift in his seat, momentarily energized.

"So you did see them?" He blinked rapidly, fighting sleep. "All the dead wizards? I wasn't just imagining it?"

"Hundreds, maybe thousands of witches and wizards," Lucius nodded. "I couldn't see the end of them, and they just stood there bleeding out."

"And the rain," Draco said, leaning forward so that he threatened to knock over the tea. "That wasn't rain, right?"

"Careful," Harry murmured, pulling him back and pushing the cup a few inches away so he didn't scald himself. "And I told you already. We all saw it."

"But..." Draco shook his head and stared at the woodgrain of the table. "I--and it was all so strange at the start. The first sacrifice--Morgan, did you see her? The field?"

Their blank looks were answer enough. Narcissa looked between her husbands and her sons, furrowing her brow, and considered her next words carefully. Severus drummed his fingers on the table, fidgeting as he waited, and across from them, Lucius stared at Draco as if he might be sick, going so far as to touch his son's forehead and startled at the wisp of dark magic stuck to his fingertips.

"Are you—?" Lucius started, glancing at him in shock.

"It's not hurting me," Draco said impatiently. "I'm fine. I looked worse before."

His parents didn't seem reassured, glancing at each other as if one of them might have an idea of what to do. But potions and politics and motherly insight wouldn't give them any help. Lucius met their looks and gave a helpless sort of shrug. All his family history had nothing to offer—the only thing close to this build up of dark magic was Voldemort himself, and that didn't seem quite the same.

"Why don't you tell us what happened?" Narcissa said softly. "How did you summon the rain?"

"It..." Draco tried to answer, frowned and glanced sideways, shifting in his seat as if that would help. His answer came in broken pieces.

"I don't—I mean, I'm not sure. The theater collapsed and vanished—"

"Was washed away," Severus muttered.

"And Harry and I went down to the water—"

"The bloody uncalled-for flood." Severus would've added more, but Narcissa kicked him under the table.

"And then the water was gone," Draco said, not noticing either of them. He stared inward, remembering the vast field of dry dust and the coffin rock. "It was the place. Where we killed the first sacrifice. She's still there. Or she was. So was Morgan and Mordred and, well, everyone. All of us."

"What do you mean?" Lucius asked. "That you were taken back in time, like a time turner?"

"Couldn't be," Harry said. "He was with me the whole time. He stopped and went real still, and then a couple seconds later, he went backwards into the water and I had to find him."

"It felt like I was there," Draco said, confused but sure of what he'd experienced. "And it felt like that field's been there forever. I don't care what the muggles put over it. It's been there forever. _She's_ been there forever."

"So you were caught up in her magic," Severus said as if it should be obvious, glaring at Narcissa as if to dare her to strike again. "The spell she cast called centuries worth of power to that spot. It isn't any wonder you saw something."

"You said you saw Morgan," Lucius said, tapping his finger on the table. "What happened?"

"She killed herself, you know," Draco said suddenly, looking up. "For us. She didn't disappear. She died."

His parents didn't speak. Severus looked like he might comment, then thought better of it. As Draco continued, revealing that he'd dreamed of drinking the first sacrifice's blood and then how she'd offered him the knife, Narcissa closed her eyes and looked away, tensing and relaxing as Severus touched her arm. Her breath came easy again when Draco mentioned breaking the knife.

"And then I was back," Draco finished. "And...well, you saw everything after that."

"Zombies in the streets," Harry said, "and blood. What was that?"

"I might hazard a guess," Severus said softly. "It had to do with breaking the knife, I think."

Draco nodded once, a little more confident now that Severus echoed his own thoughts.

"She expected me to die," he said. "I already nearly died twice, and this time I was supposed to kill myself. Just like Morgan did."

"Very similar circumstances," Lucius agreed. "If not quite as dramatic as the two vast armies of Arthur and Mordred."

"But you broke the blade," Narcissa murmured, breathing out in relief. Then she paused. "You broke it?"

"Therein lies the crux of everything," Severus said, puzzling it out loud. "The knife acted as a focus, much like a wand. Break the wand and you break the spell. But more importantly, he broke the promise."

"What promise?" Harry asked.

"I believe we've already established," Lucius started with an aggravated sigh, "that dark wizards die so that their children may live. Likewise, the dark community has its champions. Perhaps better termed sacrifices."

"Morgan is only the most famous," Narcissa said. "Ancestors who died for us, and who we're supposed to follow. I wonder if..."

Her voice trailed off, and they all glanced her way to see if she would finish her thought. She grew increasingly pale and put her hand on Severus' arm, twisting his sleeve in her fingers. She stared at the table as she considered it.

"What if she set it up?" Narcissa said, looking at them each as if they would know the answer or could reassure her fears. "What if we kill ourselves because the first sacrifice killed herself? Some kind of recursive spell and we don't have a choice?"

"That's couldn't be," Harry whispered. "Sacrifice doesn't work like that."

"Potter—" Severus sighed, settling in his seat as if he'd have to scold Harry like a student again.

"No, this is something I do know about," Harry said over him. "You know I do. My mother died for me. That magic...that kind of magic is protective, it's good, it's—I don't have to kill myself for my own kids because of it. That'd be sick."

"Your mother's was a sacrifice borne of love," Severus clarified. "That isn't what we're talking about here. Dark wizards—yes, it's based on the same idea as your lot. Morgan was educated in a convent, after all. But our sacrifice is different. It's about..."

Severus paused, not sure of how to put his idea into words. Across from him, Lucius half-shrugged, more used to explaining after teaching dark magic to his husband.

"It's about survival," Lucius said. "We're not God. If we sacrifice ourselves, we can keep our world going for another generation. And then they have the same price to pay. It's cruel, but we survive. Magic is still unleashed, just like your mother's sacrifice, only—"

Lucius sat up straight, a new thought suddenly occurring to him, and he looked at Draco. "Wait a moment. All this time, our blood has been accumulating there? In that field you saw?"

"Centuries," Severus whispered, catching on. "Of blood magic."

Draco looked at each of them, but his parents began whispering, ignoring him as they spoke. In his exhaustion, he caught only a few words, something about the school and the muggle town and dark magic. His head dipped lower and lower, sinking toward the table, and he slumped further into his chair.

When he looked up again, he found himself sitting on the edge of his bed, and Harry in front of him unlacing his robes. Draco mumbled, too tired to wonder how he'd gone from the dining room to the bedroom.

"Go to sleep," Harry said, undoing Draco's tunic. "You look like you'll knock out before you even lie down."

Draco blinked, taking a moment to recognize what Harry had said.

"Can't," he groaned. "Too much to ..."

The room swayed around him, and Harry's hands were all that kept him from collapsing off the bed. Then his pants were gone and he was being guided back onto the pillow, with Harry holding him close. He heard his husband murmur something in his ear, something that he couldn't puzzle together, but it didn't matter. Harry's kiss to his forehead was clear enough, and then he was fast asleep.

Seemingly only seconds later, Draco awoke with the headline _Ministry Destroyed!_ throbbing on his face and a photo of the ministry in flames, with sepia-toned wizards and witches running in and out of the frame as they watched their water spells turn to useless steam against the inferno. Several of them hung back around the edges, absorbed with concealing the smoke and heat from muggle eyes.

Now that was worth waking up for.

Siting up on one elbow, he held the paper out and scanned the article, yawning and blinking several times to clear his eyes. Beside him, Ilmauzer hooted for his reward.

"Many injuries, few fatalities..." Draco murmured, his smile widening to a grin as he read. "Complete destruction...nothing left...and wild reports in London of centaurs and flying gryphons."

Ilmauzer hooted again, flapping his wings awkwardly against the pillow. Draco glanced sideways at him even as he reached with one hand and slid open the drawer by his bed.

"Don't see why I should," he said, fishing out several treats in his fingers. "Since you dropped the bloody paper on my face."

"You are so mean to that bird."

At the doorway, there was a soft side and grumble. His husband watched disapprovingly, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall.

"It went and got the Prophet for you," Harry said. "From downstairs, true, but it still went."

"Owls that drop papers on my face shouldn't get treats," Draco said even as he held out his hand to Ilmauzer, a dozen niblets in his palm. "But for such good news, I'll overlook it."

No response. As his owl ate, clicking his beak and making small crooning sounds, Draco looked up at Harry, expecting the frown and downcast eyes. Easy to guess why. Harry hadn't wanted to kill anyone, and Draco hadn't even bothered to check if the dead were any of Harry's friends. Or a—

Draco caught his smile before it escaped. Or a Weasley, but that would've been too much unbelievable good news in one day.

"With any luck," Draco offered, doing his best to sound sincere, "they'll be the last ones hurt. The war is over."

Harry blinked. "What? How can it be over? Sure, we won a battle, but there are wizards who still hate you. So much of the wizarding world still thinks dark magic is evil, and a good part of that would drive you out if they could."

"I don't think so," Draco said, shaking his head once. "Not anymore. Not that they don't hate me, but I've beaten their aurors and destroyed the ministry."

"Centaurs did," Harry pointed out. "Don't steal Magorian's thunder. I don't think he'd like that."

"Mm, true," Draco mused. "He isn't the kind to want to hide it, either. And Sev' says Malfoys are splashy—Magorian certainly made sure everyone knew where the centaurs stand."

Harry nodded, watching Draco read the rest of the article. There was a little paragraph about the fight between the aurors led by Fudge and the joined forces of Dumbledore, Lupin and Malfoy, but even that was scant. Rita Skeeter had done her best to fill space with her own editorializing, but the lack of information so soon was obvious.

"So now what?"

Draco looked up in surprise. "Hm?"

"Now what?" Harry asked. He stood straight, folding his arms as he waited for an answer. "You've destroyed the ministry and a muggle town, and now you say the war is over. So now what?"

A sly grin spread over Draco's face, and he swung out of bed, conjuring robes and his cloak, pulling his hood down.

"Now we have an empty muggle town to look at," he said, stretching himself to the fullest—and then stumbling as his sore body wobbled and began to topple. His left knee buckled, his right ankle twisted under him, and he landed hard on his hip before Harry could reach him, groaning as he untangled his limbs.

"Ow..."

"Draco!" Harry knelt next to him, putting an arm around him to help him sit straight. "Are you all right?"

"I'm really sore," Draco said, surprised. "Everything hurts. Why does everything hurt?"

Harry looked at him as if he were stupid. "After last night? You're lucky you can stand. C'mon, back up and I'll bring you breakfast in bed."

Draco accepted Harry helping him up again, but he balked at taking a step toward the bed. He simply clung to Harry's side and found the belt loop in his jeans, leaning heavily against him.

"Breakfast in bed is tempting," Draco admitted, closing his eyes as his legs throbbed and the bruise spread over his side. "Very tempting, actually. But we don't have that kind of time. We need to go see that town now."

"Your parents have—"

"It has to be us," Draco said, stomping his foot to make the point and then regretting doing so. With a wince, he continued. "Fudge is still alive, and damn stupid Nymphadora for saving him. The wizards will be angry about the ministry. There needs to be something to focus them on before they try to fight again."

"You can't make them stop hating you, especially now, and—" Harry huffed and bent over, hooking an arm under Draco's knees and hauling him into the air. "Honestly, quit trying to stand. It's just pathetic now."

"It's not that bad," Draco muttered, but he didn't squirm and he didn't struggle. "All right. Can you take us to Givry?"

"No breakfast?" Harry asked with some surprise. "Really?"

"You can take me someplace afterward," Draco said, but as he thought about it, maybe there were no wizard places he could eat comfortably in. Knockturn Alley had been burned down, with its restaurants and bakery—oh, he'd miss the bakery. And he couldn't show his face in Diagon Alley, not yet.

"Someplace muggle, maybe," Draco muttered. "If it's acceptable."

"There's always the pizza place," Harry said. "That place's becoming popular in this family."

Harry turned, reshuffing Draco in his arms. At first Draco thought his husband was just getting him settled to apparate, but then Harry started out the door and carefully picked his way down the narrow flight of stairs to the main hall.

"What are you doing?" Draco whispered. "You'll wake my parents—"

"Your parents," came a peeved voice from around the corner, "are quite awake."

Draco winced. None of them were morning people, not unless Lucius had it in mind to be particularly annoying, but Severus seemed to find being up this close to sunrise as a personal insult. He hoped the elves had spread out an amazing breakfast so that none of them hurt each other.

"Were you planning on running off?" Narcissa demanded as they came in, but her anger faded when she saw how Harry was carrying him. "Oh my God, is he hurt? I knew we should've made him cleanse—"

"I'm fine," Draco groaned, hoping he wasn't turning as red as he suspected. "Harry's being overdramatic."

"Mm," Lucius said as if he was only half listening, rustling his own copy of the Daily Prophet as he skimmed the articles. "Then he's truly becoming part of the family."

"He isn't fine," Harry said, ignoring him. "He can't walk."

"I'm just really sore," Draco sighed, squirming to be let down, and he glared at Harry when he didn't. "Honestly, I'll be all right. I'd of stayed in bed if I could, but this needs to be done."

"What does?" Lucius asked.

"Seeing that the muggles really do get out of Givry," Draco said, hoping that his parents would go along with what seemed to him to be the only possible plan. "Setting up wards for the town. Demolishing whatever's left standing and starting to build."

None of them seemed moved. Narcissa took a refill of tea and Severus took the last sticky bun, which he had to settle for half of as Narcissa grabbed the other edge and tore it down the middle. Lucius at least put down the paper and steepled his fingers, fully paying attention to his son.

"And why would we do that?" he asked.

"So we have something over the rest of the wizards," Draco said, fidgeting in earnest and irritated when Harry put him down in a chair rather than just apparating them both away. Not that Draco couldn't apparate himself, but he wasn't about to go off without Harry.

"What do you mean?" Lucius asked.

"We need a place of our own," Draco said, exasperated with having to explain when time was so important. "So we don't have to live among other wizards. That doesn't work. We need a place that's dark, even if we have light wizards there."

"Like a Knockturn Alley?" Severus asked, then fell silent as Lucius held up a hand.

Draco paused. Lucius wasn't asking to annoy him for almost running off without leaving word again. His father had something in mind, leading the conversation to see if he liked the answers. Draco considered.

"No, not like Knockturn Alley," Draco said slowly, measuring his words. Although now that he thought about it, he realized that he hadn't thought this all the way through. The idea was there, a place of their own, a safe place, a school, but the details?

"A place," he started, sounding it out. "Where dark wizards can live. Safe. Practice our magic openly. Experiment again. Like a town, I think. With shops and things. But so that you know that it's dark—there's no mistaking that it's dark even when you just look at it. So that if there are light wizards there, they won't think it's like Diagon Alley where everyone was split up or just at each other's edges."

"And why," Narcissa asked, taking Severus' honey for her own tea, "would there be other wizards there? Not just us?"

"To lead them on," Draco said, but the explanation wasn't enough. He could see by her expression. He had to think for several seconds. "They have to have a school. They can't survive without one and Hogwarts is dead. But now they'll have to come to a school that we run, if they want to learn at all. We can't kill them. But we can be the ones in charge."

"A school that they could not control," Lucius said as if to clarify Draco's own thoughts. "If they kill us, they render the school useless."

"Yes," Draco said, surprised that his father could put into words what he hadn't understood of his own plan. "Obviously dark, since it's our blood in that field."

"So you'll need to start planning the town," Lucius said, counting off a list as he went. "You'll need the grounds cleared and the land safe for us to cast spells without muggles wandering in. You'll need the debris cleaned, and you'll need the ministry and Dumbledore and everyone else off your back while you do it. Yes?"

"Yes," Draco said, relieved at last that his father understood. "Before they try to do it first."

"No worry of that," Lucius said, turning back to breakfast. "It's already done."

Draco couldn't say anything for several moments. He blinked stupidly a few times, staring at his father, then glancing at his mother and Severus. Neither of them contradicted Lucius. But Narcissa stifled a yawn and Severus was leaning on one arm, blinking too quickly.

"You haven't slept," Draco realized.

"Brilliant," Severus muttered. "We'll make a dark lord of him yet."

"I'm worried," Narcissa murmured back as if she didn't want to be heard yet loud enough that Draco could hear. "It took him that long. Are we sure he didn't hit his head?"

"Ignore them," Lucius said, sliding a plate of cold sandwiches and a slice of breakfast cake to his son. "They aren't used to working this early and it makes them disagreeable."

Narcissa was about to argue her injured sense of dignity when Lucius waved her down. She glowered but went back to her tea.

"You were right that time is of the essence," Lucius said. "But you were in no condition to do anything last night. Harry took care of you and then we took our forces back to Givry and began working."

"With the Knights?" Draco asked incredulously. "But they were all at the fight—wouldn't they be just as tired?"

"Not the Knights," Narcissa said softly, and this time Lucius did not stop her. She paused, wringing her napkin, then tossed it down on her plate. "It feels so wrong to say it out loud around you even now."

Quietly, without drawing attention to the motion, Severus reached across the space between them and put his hand on hers, calming her fidgeting fingers. She took a breath and stared at the plate, and just as quietly put her fingers through his.

"We're all breaking traditions left and right," Severus reassured her. "We just have to hope it's for the best."

"What's for the best?" Draco asked.

"The Children of Samhain," she said, facing him. "My version of the Knights. The wives and daughters, and some of the other men, too. We warded all of Givry—it's a small town and it emptied quickly. Harry conjured up something about a fire underground...I still don't quite understand that part."

"Just a thing I heard about somewhere else," Harry said. "A town with a mine underneath that caught fire, and the whole place had to be evacuated before everything collapsed. They carried it on the news and evacuated everyone. Officially Givry has already partially collapsed in."

"In any case," Lucius said, taking up the thread again. "The women are salvaging what they can—honestly, Draco, demolish everything? Such a waste of time when the town is ours, and no one can get in."

"We're leaving the school for you to do," Narcissa added. "My girls won't go near that stone where the opera was, and I don't blame them. It's eerie."

Draco thought about what they had said, envisioning what they had done and how much work was already finished. He leaned back in his chair and felt like a mountain of work had been lifted from his shoulders and another mountain dropped on top of him, and he looked at them with a light head.

"I...how did you know?" he asked finally.

"You've done amazing things," Lucius conceded. "But you're young. We simply have more experience than you."

"You'd already said a lot of this after the fight," Narcissa said. "And you were saying things in your sleep when Harry took you up."

"Besides all that work last night when the rest of them were there," Severus said, chuckling despite his exhaustion. "And what a stroke of genius, having them help clean up before warding them out. Can't wait to see Lupin's face..."

"Schoolyard grudges aside," Lucius said over Severus. "You're right that you should go back and begin making real plans. There'll be enough of our people there to protect you even if the wards were somehow breached."

"Make sure you figure how large you want the school," Narcissa said. "Where shops and homes should lie."

"Escape routes when things go south," Severus said drily.

"Our own hospital," Lucius said. "No more of St. Mungo's."

"And rip out some of those roads," Narcissa added. "Muggles put their pavingment over everything."

Severus didn't correct her word. "You'll have to tear down all their electric wires. Perhaps pull out their water system as well."

Draco sat still for several seconds, staring at the breakfast that a house elf set before him. In the face of the work ahead of him, he'd lost his appetite. He'd known there would be a lot of things to accomplish, but the scope daunted him. Even if he had weeks, months to do everything...and he didn't have months. The dark community needed to move in within days.

"Can..." About to ask for a list of the biggest things to do first, he looked at them, saw how his mother's hand trembled on her tea cup, how Severus had one hand pressed against his head to stave off a headache. Even Lucius shook his head once to fight sleep. They were exhausted and in no shape to help him further.

Draco took Harry's hand. His husband was all he had to rely on now.

"Will we be able to do all that?" he whispered.

"That's the question," Snape said. "Isn't it?"


	19. Wherein Gorre-on-Avon is born

There was something satisfying about the way Rita Skeeter came into the school, all business with her quill and parchment in the crook of her arm, her other hand out to keep her balance. At first she kept her gaze on the stone steps so that she didn't catch a heel on the rough, rounded edges, but as she came to the top, as she took a breath and very naturally looked around herself...she froze. Took a slow, wandering step farther in, staring in wonder at the vast height of the First's Academy for the Dark Arts.

Shaped like a cathedral, the stained glass windows welcomed anyone who entered, drawing the eye inside and up. The ceiling soared four stories to a grand rose window framed by balconies and a bell tower, but the buttresses and the dark web of lattices and railings made it impossible to see further. A skeleton of wood and stone, it felt centuries old no matter that she knew it had only been built a few days ago.

Her gaze dropped back to the main hall, with tables and chairs instead of pews. What should have been an altar was instead a teacher's podium with the faculty table behind. The nod to Hogwarts left her a little more grounded, although she did not recognize any of the scenes in the stained glass windows around her, nor any of the statues placed in the alcoves. Numerous doors lead off to the side. What rooms lay beyond just out of sight, she imagined might be classrooms, but in a school run by dark wizards...

Unseen, Draco watched her from the far corner. Arms folded, one leg carelessly crossed over the other, he leaned against the wall and kept still in the deep shadow, judging her reaction. Surprise, of course, and some awe mixed in. But she narrowed her and peered toward the darker elements of the school, suspicious of this church turned school.

He frowned. Well, let them be suspicious. The school was not made for her or her kind.

"It draws your eye up, doesn't it?"

Rita startled back, finding Draco leaning against what looked suspiciously like a confessional. She had to make herself take cautious steps forward, uncomfortably aware of her heels on the stone floor, and struggled to pick his silhouette out of the shadows. His black cloak merged smoothly with the darkness, blending with the soft candlelight.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said, relieved when she saw that it was him. "How good of you to see me on such short notice."

"Not at all," he said, standing straight and coming toward her. "If you hadn't asked, I should have within the week."

As he came into the light streaming from the stained glass windows, he put one hand on the back of the chair and drew his fingers along the length of polished wood, staring at it as if amazed it was there at all. When he glanced around the vast chamber, he looked up at the windows as if staring at saints.

"Who are they?" Rita asked, nodding toward the stained glass. "I don't recognize these scenes."

"I'm sure you've guessed that they're dark," he said, and he pointed up at each as he described them. "There's Morgan le Fey at her sacred pool. Mordred at his throne after Arthur abandoned England. Agravaine accusing Lancelot. That window there shows the first dark wizards fleeing to France, and that one has the Roman invasion."

Rita frowned, taking in their history through different eyes and adjusting to seeing the old heroes recast as villains. Merlin was there, but not the kindly wizard from her old trading cards. Here he stood in the center of one window, eyes cruel, pushing a boat full of infants out into the frozen ocean.

Anger surged in her. Merlin did not belong to these dark wizards. He was part of her culture. How dare they take him for their own. He had only defended her kind from the awful night rides of dark wizards. True, Draco claimed that those rides were a retaliation, that they saw Merlin as a monster.

And was this how the dark children felt when they had sat in Hogwarts, learning how to defend against themselves and watching their classmates trade cards of their killers?

"And the altar piece?" she managed to say evenly, pressing the back of her hand against her cheeks to cool them. "It's only a field and a black stone."

"The field underneath us," he said, coming to stand beside her. "The stone is still there under the altar."

"For sacrifices?" she murmured.

"Once upon a time, yes," he said, dropping his voice to a murmur. "But never again. Our first sacrifice was offered here, and so was the last. God willing, we will never have to die for each other again."

She glanced sideways at him, taking advantage of his obvious entrancement with his cathedral to study him. He whispered as if a ghost might wake up in that glass field, might climb into view from behind that stone. Though this cathedral was supposed to be a school, there was something sacred housed within, hiding in the shadows between far too few candles. A cathedral was meant to worship, to inspire and ultimately to entomb. Was he merely reverent of the dead here, or was he afraid?

"It's impressive," she said at last. "What you've accomplished in so short a time. The school. I mean, I assume this will be the school. Unless it is a...dark church?"

Draco chuckled at her hesitation. "Do you imagine midnight sabbaths and choirs of hooded monks?"

"I didn't mean to offend," she said too quickly.

Still chuckling, he waved away her worry.

"No, don't apologize," he said. "We'll never get anywhere if we're always apologizing."

He continued walking by her, motioning for her to follow, and he led her at a slow, casual pace toward the altar, speaking as he walked. Though his voice was soft, the echo carried along the walls and surrounded her, lingering in the air even if he only whispered.

"I believe I told you before that Morgan le Fey was educated in a convent. The dark community owes much of its survival to the early church. We were two unlikely allies against most of the rest of England, and later on, they hid us from your burnings in the same bolt holes as their priests."

"The church was behind that as well," she reminded him.

"Ah, but it was those pesky Reformers who I see so often in my dreams," he said, turning and leaning against the podium, one arm draped possessively over the top. "But we could argue history all day. Suffice to say, the First's Academy simply takes the shape of this cathedral to honor the memory of our history with the early church."

"Then this is not a religious school?" she asked, tilting her head as she drew out her quill and parchment.

"Not at all," he said. "Insomuch as students don't have to be of one creed. Most of the dark children were raised traditionally, but while there will be classes on religion and history, nothing will require belief."

"History?" She looked up even as her hand continued moving, taking down in shorthand what she'd already heard. "And what other subjects will be on the curriculum? I mean, if you've already decided so early."

"For the most part," he nodded. "My handpicked faculty have already begun drawing up a list. I'll have them owl you later. I know she wants history and religion, something called humanities, muggle maths and sciences, along with some of the staples from Hogwarts--the herbology, dark magic..."

"'Maths and sciences'?" Rita echoed.

"...something about Divination being an after-school club only..."

"Wait, please," Rita said, "a moment. What is this muggle maths and sciences?"

"You'll have to get her to explain it," Draco said with an air of being as lost as she was.

"'Her'?" Rita asked.

"Miss Hermione Granger," Draco said, and he prided himself on how faint and unassuming he kept his smile. "I believe you know her?"

Rita's lips pursed and her quill halted for an instant before she took down the name.

"...yes, after a fashion," she said, not looking at him. "Why her?"

Under his breath, he murmured "I ask myself that every time I deal with her."

Loud enough for Rita to hear, however, he answered as if he had no qualms with dealing with Granger.

"Because I agree with her--we cannot afford to fall behind that ver...very dangerous society of muggles around us, and we may be losing out on innovations in magic and spellcraft."

He took a deep breath. His luck with avoiding gaffes still held. He'd nearly called muggles 'that vermin,' and he did not tell Rita about the shouting match between himself and Hermione about including muggle studies beyond ways of killing the lot of them. But Harry had backed her, and then Severus of all people had said that her ideas held some merit, and Draco couldn't argue so well against all three of them.

He'd put his foot down at field trips into the wasteland of muggle society, however.

"I look forward to hearing from her," Rita said dryly, scratching down her notes. "And I heard you correctly? It will be a class on Dark Arts, not...defense."

"Of course," he said. "Much still needs to be hammered out, but that is certain. As is the tuition."

"Tuition?" she said in surprise. "Hogwarts was free."

"That's debatable," he muttered, with a memory of his father's ranting about taxes and unfair laws. "But yes, while the First's Academy will offer some scholarships and waive the fees of some students, by and large we will require a stipend to defray some of the cost of attendance. This will actually be less about money and more about sacrifice."

The flatness of his tone, the matter of fact way he said it, that it was already set in stone and damn her opinion, dragged the worst from her imagination.

"'Sacrifice'?" she gasped. "But you just said-? You must be mad. The slaughter in Hogwarts was not known--you simply cannot do the same here. It's unconscionable."

"Our cultures have very different ideas of what is conscionable," he said mercilessly. "And you wrong us. We would not sacrifice children."

Even if they are mudbloods, he thought.

"We will, however, require a sacrifice of blood," he said. "At the start of each year, with a knife charmed not to hurt."

She looked past him at what she had first thought was a baptismal font, now looming much more sinister before her. She imagined the tables full of new students, each of them nervously filing past the basin, taking the knife to their own hand or arm and watching their own blood flow. They would not be paying the school. They would be feeding it.

"Families will not send their children here," she said, raising her head. "It's too much."

"Very well. No one is forcing them," Draco said. "Let them find their own tutors. My community has already sown whole generations of ourselves here. A little blood now and then seems a small payment indeed."

"But that isn't fair," she protested. "A tutor can't match a school of magic. There are no other schools the children can go to. Nothing like Hogwarts. Nothing like this place will be."

"I agree," he said. "That much magic requires blood."

Something in his voice made her look up, pulled out of one train of thought to another.

"What do you mean?" she asked. She frowned in thought, thinking of how earlier he seemed to blend too well with the shadows. Of how he moved with perfect ease here, like a living extension of the school itself. "How much magic is here?"

Draco tilted his head, staring around the room once. "Hm. Well, Severus and I tried to figure it, but to put it in less abstract terms...if I spent a hundred years pouring out magic, I might spend the tiniest sliver of magic available here."

She stared at him, trying to imagine the wisp of a boy he'd been long ago when she first interviewed him, afraid of the other students and terrified of the Ministry. Now he stood straight, head raised and eyes clear, his mouth turned in the slightest of smiles.

"And it's all mine," he said softly. "Tied to my blood."

"How is that even possible?" she whispered.

"Well," he laughed, "I just had to nearly die twice, avert all out war and establish a safe town for my dark wizards. Easy, really."

He turned, waving her to follow, and led her back to the doors. Framed by the gray sunlight, he looked like such a slender, frail dark lord, his cloak swallowing him up in its draped folds. When he put the hood up, shielding his eyes from the light and cutting a little of the evening breeze, he was the very picture of Dark Wizard in a bestiary of dangerous creatures, the cruel monster in human guise hungry for the blood of children.

"I'll show you around the town," he offered. "I'm afraid it's still a bit empty, but they're coming every day, claiming homes and setting up shop. We'll head to the The Crier, I think, and then circle around the other side to the gardens. More than enough of a walk."

"You're really going to demand blood?" she asked again, holding her parchment and quill tight. "Of children?"

He faced her, lighting a green flame in one hand to serve as a light as the sun continued to sink.

"You used to demand our deaths," he said. "Or is it better when only dark children have to bleed?"

"No one should have to bleed," she whispered. "If you have so much power, you should let them come for free."

"If there's no cost..." Chuckling, he shook his head slowly, once. "Then there's no appreciation. I will not see our sacrifices, the First's sacrifice, treated so casually."

Again, he beckoned her, and this time she came, if with dragging steps.

Despite its muggle origins, the dark witches had turned Givry into a kind of expanded Knockturn Alley, altering nearly everything they had salvaged. The roads, once covered with what Hermione called pavement, were now made of proper cobblestone. Weak buildings with facades of crumbling wood and paper were stripped down and properly shored up in stone and heavy wood beams, with empty signs waiting for shop keepers to claim.

Draco had no idea how the Children of Samhain had worked so fast. Crafting homes out of the muggle ruin was no small thing, hearth magic that they had kept secret even from the rest of the community, and he personally saw to it that each of his mother's witches had first pick of the homes they had brought back from the mud.

It was an impressive sight, even to him. To Rita, perhaps it was a city rising out of her worst nightmares. The dark wizards had come out of hiding, no longer a lone monster in the night but a whole parade of demons right in the heart of England. It didn't matter that some of her own neighbors were newly revealed to be dark wizards. Who knew what terrible going-ons would happen here with no aurors to enforce law and order?

With the stars coming out and a full moon bathing the whole town, Draco took her up the stairs against the outer wall, one of the higher points of the town. From here, he gestured at the barricade the dark wizards had worked to raise around the inner half of the town.

"Only part of the town will be for our use," he said. "Refurbished and used for shops and homes. Anything outside the wall will be allowed to crumble and grow over naturally, to better keep out the muggles. We might have a few explorers come wandering through, but they'll be warded away, thinking the ground is unstable."

"Even so," she said, standing stiffly though she followed his look. "Much of the town will be empty. You told Lupin that few of you dark wizards remain in England."

"No," he said, wondering what had been said in her earlier interview with Lupin. "I told him that none of us remained. Fudge sacked and burned our homes, and he destroyed Knockturn Alley. But this town will be our new home. My dark wizards are settling in with more arriving from the Continent and Roanoke every day."

"So Givry-on-Avon-," she said.

"Gorre-on-Avon," he corrected her. "Not the prettiest name, I know, but it's tradition."

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Blood and gore, is that it?"

"No, Gorre, two r's." He leaned fully on the ledge, arms resting against stone, and took a deep breath of the cool breeze. "Morgan le Fey's lands. It's probably not her old kingdom, but we can name it after her all the same."

"I'm surprised," she said. "I thought you would have named this place after yourself. New Malfoy or something."

He went still, and his smile faded to nothing.

Perhaps that had gone too far, she realized. He might retaliate. She clutched her quill and parchment a little tighter, stood stiff against the wind and shivered slightly. Her shoulders flexed as if she might shift her shape and wing away suddenly.

Instead Draco leaned against the wall, hands dangling over the edge, as he faced the approaching night. The breeze blew fitfully through his hair, and his eyes half closed, staring not at the town below but at some distant memory only he could see.

"She died for us," he said finally. "They all died for us. The least we could do is remember them."

She didn't answer, gazing disaffectedly over the town. Moonlight began to outline the clouds, and with it came lumos charms and spelled candles at doorways and street corners. Gorre took on a soft glow as the fog settled over the cobblestones and sidewalks, with tiny flashes of colored light as wizards and witches cast spells under its cover. Rita frowned, leaning faintly to one side as if a few inches would help her see what they were casting.

Out of the shop just across the street came a familiar bob of blonde hair jogging up the steps toward them. Her face was lowered as she watched her step, but there was no mistaking the way her robe was inside out and her jewelry all made of corks. Rita had pieced together from sources which of Harry's friends had become part of Draco's small circle of associates, and Luna Lovegood showed up as often as Hermione Granger.

"I thought I saw you up here!" Luna cried, joining them with a smile. "Have you got it yet?"

"Not yet," Draco answered with a faintly exasperated sigh. "We ordered it yesterday. It won't be ready for another week."

"But printing is ever so much more difficult without it." She glanced at Rita, giving her a quick nod and then looking back at Draco. "Still, I promise I'll have that first edition out tomorrow morning. It won't be pretty, though."

"Pretty doesn't matter," Draco said firmly. "Quick and accurate, that's all I care about."

"I'm sorry," Rita said, blinking rapidly as she guessed at Luna's phrasing. "What exactly do you mean 'first edition'?"

"Oh, right," Luna said, turning to face her properly, and now Rita saw the smudges of ink across her nose and cheek, caught the whiff of hot paper and telltale stamp of letters across her fingers.

"Draco's let me open up a little printing shop," Luna said. "That's what the press he ordered me is for. It's so much easier when the letters arrange themselves when I talk."

"A print shop," Rita echoed, feeling her stomach sink. Did her editor know about this? "For what?"

"Oh, anything," Luna said in breathless excitement. "The possibilities are endless. Dark spells and potions, of course, but there's cookbooks and medicine and history--oh, the histories I can put down. And of course they know all sorts of different magical creatures than we do."

"Tell her about the Caterwaul," Draco said, folding his arms as he watched them, Luna's innocent enthusiasm and Rita's mounting horror.

"The...'Caterwaul'?" Rita said, not sure if she'd heard that correctly.

"An inset to the Quibbler," Luna said. "Father said it was high time I start making my own way in the world, and this was a great opportunity. Well, technically speaking, the Caterwaul is Gorre-on-Avon's newspaper, but I don't even have any reporters yet. It's all very ground floor."

"Right now," Draco said, taking over when Rita still seemed flummoxed, "it's only the important things. What shops have moved in, family members trying to find each other-"

"Hermione put in some things about the school and town council," Luna said. "Oh, that reminds me, Draco. I got a message by bat that the vampires don't want to send a representative. They're happy as long as no one bothers them outside."

"Like hell," Draco frowned. "Lazy bastards--if I have to sit through boring meetings, they damn well do, too."

"'Vampires'?" Rita said, looking between both of them as if they were joking. "In a town council?"

"If I have anything to say about," Draco nodded firmly.

Luna laughed. "You're so funny when you try to be serious. Will you come by to see the finished product? It should be ready at about five."

Draco shook his head with a wary smile. "Unless you mean five p.m. tomorrow, not on your life. I refuse to wake before the crack of noon."

The mention of time set Rita on edge. The "edition" Luna had spoken of before was the very first issue of her Caterwaul. Luna didn't just mean to compete with the Prophet. She meant to go to war with it. If Rita wanted to get her interview out in time to fight, she had to warn her editor and somehow slide it into print in record time.

"Well," Rita said, turning and giving him a faint nod. "Thank you for your tour, Mr. Malfoy. I won't take up any more of your time. You may look for the article in tomorrow's Prophet."

"I look forward to it," he said, facing her with half a smile. "I believe Ms. Lovegood's inset will be out tomorrow as well. I'm sure both will be fascinating reads."

Cold desperation welled in Rita's stomach. Light wizards would devour any shred of information about dark wizards out of fear or abject curiosity, and the Prophet simply could not keep up with a newspaper based inside Gorre itself. Scoops would be impossible; she could only repackage what Luna reported. And with so much chaos confusing what the homeless Ministry might be trying to do...

Rita became a beetle and flew away, buzzing her wings like a haughty sniff.

"Should conjure up ravens to eat her," Malfoy muttered. He watched her wheel away, satisfied only when she vanished out of sight.

"Don't be so cross," Luna said, tugging on his sleeve. "Come get an apple tart with me."

"I thought you had a paper to print," he argued, but he followed her down anyway, escorting her through the street.

"Hard work's done," she said over her shoulder. "Got all the letters into the forms. Now it's all pressing away, but it'll be hours before it's finished."

Down the cobblestone street, up onto the sidewalk, not that they needed to worry about carriages or... Draco looked up at the fog rolling through his streets. The cobblestone was newly laid, waiting for horses and carriages that didn't quite touch the ground, and what else might tramble through his town? Magic carpets? The Ministry had banned them for ages. Or clockwork contraptions that they sometimes used in the deserts, a windup horse or bird--oh, creatures like gryphons carrying wizards and witches through the night!

"I really thought you might show her," Luna said suddenly.

Dragged away from his thoughts, he glanced at her as if she was batty, still adjusting to her rapid subject shifts.

"That's not for her to know," he said as if that were obvious. "Only people who live here."

"So if she lived here," Luna reasoned, "then she could know?"

For a moment he thought she was serious, and he began to question if she really was as sensible as Harry had sworn, despite all her eccentricities. Had he let a madwoman run his town's newspaper? But then a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and she started giggling a second after.

"You are mental," Draco grumbled.

"Is Harry teaching you muggle'isms?" she asked, chuckling. "Oh, your face. Give me some credit. If you told that dreadful woman about the cemetery, I think she'd explode."

"I don't know," he said as if considering it. "If I thought she would explode, I would've included it on the tour."

Luna reached the bakery first, pushing the door open for him and smiling at the jangling bell that told the baker she had customers. The ovens burned red and the chefs bent over them like dark demons, and the woman in charge of them, what looked like a witch with red eyes and slightly pointed teeth, grinned and leaned on the counter, her cloak waving softly in the heat.

"Master Malfoy, Miss Lovegood," she said with an air of easy knowing. "I'd of sworn you'd just left."

"Can't keep me away," Luna said, bending and looking through the treats even though she knew them by heart. "So many good ones...two sugared roses, an apple tart and a jelly toadstool, please."

"Of course," the vampiress said, wrapping each one with a flourish and gently sliding them all into a neat white box, tied up with ribbon. "And my newest concoction on the house."

The vampiress slipped a little packet through the seam, then pushed the bundle over the counter.

"Newest one?" Luna said. "What is it?"

"A little pixie dust for your tea, but it's good with coffee if you go that way." She half-shrugged, no longer caring much which way mortals preferred to drink. "And for you, Master Malfoy? The usual?"

"Just an apple tart," Draco said, watching in satisfaction as she swept up one with several white blossoms growing on the top. "And a little politics."

"Oh, why must you bring up something rotten?" she sighed as she bagged up his tart. "It's that business with the council, isn't it?"

"If I send a bat," Draco pointed out, "the others will ignore it. They won't ignore you."

Her eyes flashed, and the cape rustled enough to show that it was not cloth but rather the thin stretch of her wings clasped at her throat. In the kitchen, her vampire assistants spotted her little flourish and worked harder as if that would make her ignore them.

"They know better than to try," she said darkly, giving her minions a look.

"Then forgive me for asking a favor," he said. "Tell them that if I don't have two vampires on the council, I'll allow every bit of anti-vampire legislation brought to the table."

Out of reflex, she hissed and dug her claws into the counter. Wood chipped under her nails.

"Oh please," he sighed, tilting his head. "You're hardly as scary as Magorian when I told him. At least he has big awful hooves to throw around."

"It isn't enough that we're living here?" she demanded. "That we lend you our support?"

"No," he said, leaning over the counter. "It isn't. If you want to keep living here, you'll have to sit through boring meetings, argue with everyone else and pay attention to the news, and there's no excuse for that last one. We have our own bloody paper just next door."

She narrowed her eyes. "And if we all refuse?"

He narrowed his. "I raise taxes."

"You aren't taking any right now!" she said, indignant.

"I'll start," he said. "If I have to care about politics, so do you."

This time she leaned back, smoothing out the jagged punctures to her counter. She didn't have an argument for that, but still...boring meetings.

"You could just be king," she offered. "Be easier for everyone."

"Except me," he grumbled. "Too much work."

She stared at him for a long moment, gauging how serious he was about taxes and anti-vampire laws, then sighed explosively and rang up his desert.

"Fine," she grumbled. "It's going to end up being me and one of my lazy minions here, you realize? Everyone else is too in love with writing bad poetry and staring up at the moon."

"I can think of no one better for the job," he said with a tired smile. "I look forward to seeing you Monday. Say, sunset?"

"So early?" she sighed. "That's an indecent hour."

They left her muttering to herself and scolding her minions, leaving the warmth of the Devil's Delights as they came back to the fog. Luna smiled as she dug out her first sugared rose and nibbled at the tip as they walked.

"You didn't get a tea packet," she noticed.

"I'll be lucky if I didn't get poisoned," he sighed sadly, tapping the bag with his wand and made it vanish, to reappear again on his kitchen table. "I'll have to send Harry for all my treats from now on."

"Did you really have to threaten the centaurs?" she asked.

"Oh yes," he said. "It's their own fault, of course. If they're going to complain about the Ministry not caring about them, then they can't complain when I make them take a voice in my council."

"So that's the centaurs, vampires, dark wizards, and...?"

"Me," he muttered. "Granger wanted elves but I refused. She also wanted muggle borns but I told her if she's so keen on all of us being equal, then she can't separate out wizards like that."

"Hm, so that's why she's been sulky lately." Luna bit straight through the rose and crunched through the rest. "Set up house yet?"

"Almost," he said. "Harry's handling it. I want to get the town completely done first. It's almost there, but not yet."

As they came to her print shop, she nodded once and started to go in, then thought of something and turned to face him.

"If wizards are the same," she said around the end of a lollipop stick, "but there are two wizards in the council...what are you?"

He chuckled, reaching back to put his hood over himself again.

"You know, you're the first one to ask me that."

She moved the stick to the other side of her mouth, waiting.

Glancing around to make sure they were alone, Draco drew his wand and held the tip up for her to see.

"Lumos," he said.

Nothing happened. She frowned, unsure of what she was not seeing.

"Leohtia," he said, and this a small glow grew from the wand, not the cold light of a lumos spell but the warmth of flames crackling in the air.

Luna's eyes widened as she began to realize what he meant. Dark magic.

"You can't cast our magic anymore," she whispered.

"It seems not," he said softly. "Perhaps I'm too covered in darkness now?"

He put away his wand and shrugged.

"Oath breaker. I'm still figuring out what that means." He glanced up at the tower in the middle of town, a squat rook of a building meant to hold their council. "But at the very least, it means I'm not part of the Ministry's world anymore."

Leaving her to her work and wondering if that would end up in the newspaper or not, Draco wandered a little through his town. Even though he did not stand in his school, he still felt the power of the field beneath its stone floor and the coffin rock under the altar. The cathedral was the town's heart, but Gorre-on-Avon spread out to the very walls, breathing fog through the bones of her streets.

For all its muggle trappings, Gorre was an impressive feat of dark magic. It had taken days of hard work and a whole community of witches, but it felt like something ancient and permanent. Anyone who came here felt it—their awe was obvious when each wizard arrived. More than an escape, Gorre was a home, and as Draco walked along his streets, he nodded to the wizards who smiled and waved to him.

He passed through a grassy park, wandered by the many homes and spots perfect for shops. Here, the muggle high rise converted to a hospital, Saint Morrigan's, and there, a wide bridge that could still move to let ships sail in. Of course they'd had to improve on the muggle mechanism, but now his town could easily bring goods in and out through the river.

And then the cemetery.

How had Rita not noticed? Perhaps because the city was so new or simply because it wasn't something one thought of until needed. At the far end of town, nestled against the town wall and surrounded by a high gate, a broad expanse of empty field lay untouched, save for a lump of flat stone in the center.

Here he would lay the dead of Gorre and plant the seeds of the next broken promise.

Running his fingertips along the cold stone, he imagined it less like an altar and more like an empty box. The altar under his school was filled with murdered or sacrificed dark wizards. This time dark wizards would go willingly, peacefully, without a mob of muggles or light wizards setting them on fire.

"Thought I'd find you here."

The familiar voice warmed him against the chill. Draco smiled and closed his eyes, leaning back in absolute trust against his husband. Harry bent slightly to kiss his forehead, holding him close, then looked over his shoulder at the field.

"Do you really have to do it?" Harry asked softly. "It seems like...I dunno, like it means you don't believe in what you're doing."

"You mean it feels like a betrayal," Draco said. He stared at his field, an unassuming bit of land with weeds and brambles growing over it, imagining the gruesome fate in store for it.

"This will work," Harry insisted. "The city is good, the ministry's gone, the magic...God, the magic here. It'll work. Don't you believe it'll work?"

"I do," Draco said, turning to face him, putting his arms around Harry's neck. "I really do. Gorre will last for hundreds, maybe even a thousand years. Maybe more."

"Then why?"

Every person who died in Gorre would be cremated and scattered here. It was part of the agreement anyone made upon calling it home. Even if they died elsewhere, their ashes would find their way back, even if they had to ride the nightwind to do it. And in time, the stone on which they built each pyre and the field surrounding it would become as powerful as the stone beneath the school.

"Because the world changes," Draco said. "And in a thousand years, maybe there'll be war, or maybe we'll all be wiped out, and one scared dark wizard or witch will dig down and find this place when they need it the most."

"Do you think that's what she had in mind?" Harry asked. "The First?"

Draco shook his head. "She forgot. She made her promise to last forever but she forgot that she was breaking someone else's promise. I don't know how it'll happen, but..."

"Someone will repeat history," Harry replied, filling in the rest.

"They'll break the oath," Draco nodded, looking around as if he could see the nameless wizard from the future leaning over the stone, spilling his or her blood. As if he could see Gorre coming apart already. "My city will crumble and...who knows? Maybe some scared little dark wizard will find this power waiting here for them."

"What if that scared dark wizard is evil?" Harry asked.

Draco grinned. "I was."

"You know what I mean," Harry laughed, giving him a gentle shake. "Rotten dark wizard. What if they're evil? What if they're another Voldemort?"

Draco shrugged. "Then some heroic scar-head will fix everything. Honestly, we saved the present. The future can take care of itself."

Harry looked at the scraggly patch of land, more of a sandlot than a field, and then down at Draco, running a thumb over the dark circles of his eyes.

"You're exhausted," Harry said. "Come home."

"Tempting," Draco sighed, clutching him close. "So tempting."

His husband didn't let go for several seconds, holding him just as tight.

"Work isn't done," Draco murmured against his shoulder. "There's the celebration to plan. The whole riverside needs work before..."

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. "There's so much more work to do."

"It'll keep," Harry said. "Come home. I'll make tea."

Draco hesitated, stealing a glance at the the spot they called home. Harry called it a condominium, but to Draco, it looked like a glass and steel version of a castle tower. Impressive that muggles could build something so pretty, but then they went and ruined it with pipes, rusting bars and peeling plaster. The dark witches had salvaged it, shoring up the foundation where the flood had almost worn it away, then ripping out the muggle plumbing and wires and ugly fixtures. The tower wasn't finished yet--the ivy along the walls wouldn't reach the top for another few weeks and the gargoyle spouts still needed to be fixed onto the new stone rain gutters--but it was the highest point in town and the best place to see the entirety of Gorre.

Draco nuzzled Harry's robe again, then nodded. A moment later, they were inside their apartment.

Warm candle light. A fireplace crackling and coloring the room in gold. A soft breeze blowing in from the balcony, night wind carrying the warmth of summer and crickets chirping.

"Sit down," Harry said, gently pulling away. "I'll go put the kettle on."

Resigned to a husband that liked to act like a house elf, Draco let him go and gracefully sunk onto the larger of the two couches. Made of white leather, they were actually muggle in origin, coming from something Harry had called a 'maul'. The word conjured in Draco's imagination a mob of those magicless vermin beating each other senseless, and he'd refused to accompany Harry.

To his relief, there hadn't been a need. His husband had a decent design sense and hadn't let his dislike of finer things keep him from buying anything not patched, refurbished or recycled twice. Draco also had a sneaking suspicion that Harry had taken Hermione with him to help choose, which meant Luna might have gone with them, and at least Luna had pureblood refinement.

Draco had added a cleaning spell and a charm to coax the sofa's wood to sprout decorative leaves and blossoms, but otherwise? He lay his head down on the puffy cushion and kicked his shoes off, nestling up in a corner and seeming smaller for how large the couch was. Harry had good judgment. Usually. There was his messy hair and eternally rumpled clothes, and his occasional muggle habits, so Harry had bad judgment, too. But Harry had chosen him, so he couldn't criticize that judgment all that harshly.

"Do you have any preferences?" Harry called from the kitchen.

"Whatever you make," Draco said, adjusting so that one arm hung over the edge.

"Devil's Delight's is giving away specialty tea bags," Harry said. "I thought we might try them."

"Depends," Draco sighed, "did you get those bags before or after I visited her?"

"What?" Harry leaned backward in the doorway. "What was that?"

"I said that sounds good," Draco smiled, tilting his head up faintly.

Nestling back into the cushions, Draco had to consciously relax, forcing his shoulders to drop and allowing his arms to lie limp. Sore from being on his feet all day, meeting with Rita had sapped the last of his resolve. He thought about dragging himself to the bed, but his feet hurt and his shoulders ached and maybe Harry would carry him later.

But tomorrow would be no easier. He had an early meeting with the Children of Samhain to finish and list the homes, shops and apartments ready for use, because later he would be welcoming the first boat of dark wizards returning from Roanoke. Then he had to meet with the vampires who were already settling in the ruined portions of the muggle city outside the walls. The lazy layabouts might love lounging in crumbling homes, but if the light wizards tried to attack, the vampires would be their first line of defense.

He groaned and flopped on his back. Ending the war should have made things easier.

"That is the sound of a tired Malfoy."

The couch sank as Harry sat beside him, rubbing circles along his back. Draco murred, pleasant groans coming from him, and he glanced at his husband out of the corner of his eye.

Draco's look softened. Harry's pleasure made the war worth all the pain and fear and misery he'd felt. The Boy Who Lived often looked around the apartment in wonder, as if amazed that it belonged to him. Maybe Harry had grown up under a staircase with muggle worms for a family, but Draco could give him a whole town and a tower that touched the sky.

"Very tired."

"You've been busy this whole week," Harry said sympathetically. "Usually I have to drag you out of bed."

And instead, this week Draco had barely slept. First he'd spent most of the first night planning Gorre's layout and where he would put everything. As eager as he'd been to start working, time and effort had been saved by first thinking out where to put the wall, the school, the parks and other places a town needed. Then came tearing out the muggle pavement, destroying buildings too ruined to rebuild, widening roads and placing cobblestones. Then picking out shops from houses, creating a hospital from what Harry had called a muggle mall, overseeing the vampires moving in to their grungy hideouts. If Harry hadn't picked out their apartment and furnished _and_ carried Draco home, Draco would have been sleeping wherever he dropped.

"At least it should start getting easier," Harry said, rising to take care of the now-whistling kettle.

Except it wasn't going to get easier. Draco cringed, clutching a cushion to his head. There was the matter of the council and the day to day affairs of running a city. Preparing the school and its teachers. Staffing the hospital. Setting up returning refugees. Keeping the peace with the ministry when it was rebuilt, maintaining their alliance with Lupin and Dumbledore, building up their defenses.

Draco was doing all the work of five people, and he despaired of ever having a good night's sleep again.

A tapping came from the balcony. He looked up over the cushion at the glass doors, glaring daggers at his owl, but dutifully dragged himself to his feet and went over. Ilmauzer had a talonful of letters, which he dropped at Draco's feet before winging away to catch a mouse for dinner.

"Rotten owl," Draco sighed, scooping the mail up in one hand.

He would have gone back inside, but the night called out to his blood too strongly. The balcony was wide, more of a patio, broad and overhanging, with a curved railing and a view miles long, comfortable enough to relax on. A small table and chairs stood in the corner, and Draco sank down, spreading the letters out with a sigh.

Dumbledore. Lupin. The Prophet. Scrimgeour.

Almost a year ago, the dark community had been elated to receive a formal letter from the Ministry, a token of respect and deference. Now Draco despised seeing the golden edging along fine parchment and calligraphy. Each letter was another responsibility.

But the last letter brought a smile. Pansy. Even if it wasn't her name, he recognized her handwriting, the same girlish scrawl as her homework assignments.

_Draco,_

_If I had not seen the photos, I never would have believed it. No one did until the Roanoke representative handed us your letter. How on earth did you manage it? I hope you'll give me all the details when I arrive._

_I wasn't able to convince everyone to come. They're too wary, of course—they want to see how it goes with us for the first few years, make sure the ministry really doesn't attack us. After what you've done, I daresay we could stop any attack._

_You must be so changed. How have you managed so much in so little time?_

Draco paused, leaned back in his chair, idly tapping the edge of the letter on the table. Time. Not including sleep, this was the first time he'd sat down in days, finally allowing Harry to tempt him to rest. He dropped Pansy's letter on the pile of other letters, shoving them away from himself.

She wasn't even here—how the hell was she so damn perceptive?

"Are you all right?" Harry asked, setting tea down for him. "Something bad?"

"Not really," Draco said, waving idly at the formal stationery with gold swirls. "The usual requests for information, formal visits. I can't keep putting them off forever but God, I don't want to talk to them."

"S'the price of being a hero," Harry said. "Everyone wants to talk to you."

Harry sat down beside him, putting his arm around his shoulders. Tempted to fall asleep there and make Harry carry him to bed, Draco turned his head and nestled against his husband, softly groaning as Harry rubbed his neck and back.

Couldn't the world spin without him for a few days? Didn't the ministry have its own problems to deal with? Why did Lupin and Dumbledore have to see him right then?

A faint pop and a heavy clunk on the table made him grumble. He didn't even have to look. By now, he knew the thump of Snape's ring and he already knew what message was rolled inside.

"Ohhh, damn it all," Draco muttered, pressing harder against Harry as if he could disappear inside of his robe. "Just tell him I can't—there's no time, I can't do it yet, a bloody baby will just have to wait."

Harry hugged him quietly as he unrolled the message. A moment later he chuckled.

"Actually," Harry said, "that's not what he wrote."

"Mmf." Draco looked up over Harry's arm, his eyes slitted over a scowl. By the silver ring, Severus' note lay unfurled with a short message instead of the usual reminder that he needed to begin brewing a child. Draco tilted his head only just enough to read it.

_Need help yet?_

Draco took several seconds to understand the question because he was so tired. That sheer exhaustion made him stare stupidly for so long, figuring out what Severus meant. And when he did realize what was meant, his eyes widened and he cursed himself for another moment.

He took the note, turned it over, and conjured a pen.

_Sev...want to run a town?_

Harry read the note over his hand and chuckled, rolling it up for him and sending it back in Severus' ring. Less than half a minute later, hardly long enough for Draco to begin sipping his tea, it reappeared.

_We thought you'd never ask._


	20. Wherein a school opens

By the time that the new term should have started, the wizarding society found themselves without a school. Hogwarts stood in ruins, silent and hollow and crumbling, and far too many children required the far too few tutors. So with a heavy heart and hovering parents, prospective students arrived at Gorre-on-Avon and filled the street in front of the cathedral of the First's Academy.

The grand front doors remained shut, a bright red banner unfurled in front of them politely announcing "Welcome students," and a sign beneath of "start time: 12 noon sharp." Beside the sign, with red streamers waving in the wind, the headmaster had placed a list of all supplies required for the school year, along with a notice that supplies could be purchased at all shops with red streamers by their doors.

Hermione had been up the night before, setting out signs and lists and making sure all the shops were ready for the barrage of students and parents she hoped would attend. As she'd pointed out many times, more to reassure herself than anyone listening, the dark school was England's only option. Unless parents wanted to try sending their children to Beaubatons or Durmstrang, both of which had declared that they were full up and accepting no further students, magical society could either see their children go uneducated or send them to the town of dark wizards that had sprung up seemingly overnight.

And unseen at the top of the academy's tallest spire, curled like a serpent around the grand crucifix, Draco watched the the crowds move beneath him. He didn't want to try going unnoticed in that kind of crowd. He didn't have his husband's invisibility cloak, and anyone would recognize him if he tried to hide under a hood--no other dark wizard used them in Gorre and even if they did, he was easily one of the shortest--but very few people would notice a little white wyvern watching from the nooks and niches of the town.

He couldn't count the darting children, all of them recklessly hunting school supplies like a mad scavenger hunt despite their parents' frantic warnings that they must be careful while--well, how could the light wizards say be careful of dark wizards when they were surrounded? Draco couldn't think too uncharitably of them, though. These parents, shying away from touching the dark store clerks, were the brave ones. There'd be enough students to fill up all of Slytherin, but no more than that. With late arrivals and reluctant parents persuaded by braver families, the Academy might reach a hundred students. Maybe.

Hermione would be disappointed. She'd stocked each Academy classroom and laboratory with enough resources to serve half of Hogwarts. Now the desks and equipment would have to be reduced so the classes didn't seem empty on the first day.

Large classrooms could be explained, Draco thought, with practical learning, a phrase Hermione had emphasized to him over and over. Small classes of a handful of students would be able to practice real world applications and create their own solutions, innovating new magic...

He hissed and stretched out his wings. Stupid phrases. Hermione had spouted them every time they discussed the school, to the point that Draco could recite her own jargon back at her. Damn her muggle influences anyhow. Wizarding children experiencing magic and spellcraft less from a book and more from experience--wasn't that what it all boiled down to?

The school bell chimed, and everyone looked up. Normally the clock would only ring the hour, but today the stone face showed the minute hand resting on the nine. Only a fifteen minutes before the school officially opened its doors.

Hissing as a cool breeze chilled his scales, Draco slithered down the cross and spire, heading through a weathered hole in the stones and creeping through the support struts and buttresses until he came to the windows of the high ceiling. Light from the stained glass colored his wings like a translucent kaleidoscope, and then he dropped from the rafters with wings outstretched, gliding to the altar to land on the scroll in front of Severus.

"About time," his mentor said, not deigning to even glance sideways at him. "You can rest assured that you avoided all the preparations."

Wyvern faces showed no emotion, but Draco puffed up with unrepentant pride. What was the point of being in charge of an entire city if he had to help with boring social functions? Severus had wanted the headmaster position so badly, let him do the work that went with it.

But some responsibilities could not be shirked. Closing his eyes, he gave in to the sensation of his skin creeping, sliding off the altar as his tail became legs and his scales stretched to become human skin. He had no clothes for only a second--a thought, and the dark magic in the air coalesced into black robes that didn't fall around his feet so much as the tattered edges blurred and wisped with each step.

"Will someone find that lazy—oh, _there_ he is."

Across the nave, Hermione held a handful of the opening ceremony's programs. Behind her, Luna walked around, oblivious to Hermione's deepening frown as she set down her own programs, one on each chair. Hermione pushed her batch into Luna's hands and gave Draco a look.

"About time you showed up," she said. "I was about to send Harry after you."

"I'd be impressed if he answered since he's asleep on the couch," Draco said. He looked around at the windows and stone walls as their voices echoed and died down. "Bloody great acoustics in here, hm?"

"Lazy snake," she huffed and went to the doors, pacing back and forth as she waited the last few minutes. "Be lucky if the town doesn't fall apart by Christmas..."

"She should learn to get Luna to do everything," Draco said softly. "Be a lot less cross that way."

"She has to deal with you, so I doubt it." Severus said, scratching out a line on the scroll and adding something in the margin. "You know what you will say?"

Draco nodded, watching as his master worked. The scroll was the more detailed program of the ceremony, and he skimmed the list quickly, ignoring the majority of anything scribbled on the side.

"Students enter," he murmured, "all seated...the bell strikes twelve. Curriculum Head--oh, Granger, just had to give herself a fancy title--lays out the expectations."

"Behave yourself," Severus said softly, "or I'll boot you from the ceremony altogether."

"So I can go home and nap? Tempting," Draco muttered, but he went back to reading. "Then you give the headmaster welcoming speech, more like bloody reassurances that we won't skin them alive. Then-"

Draco paused at the brief section with his name—Dark Lord Draco Malfoy, Reeve of Gorre.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Then you."

"'Dark Lord'?" Draco whispered. "Severus, I'm not a-"

"It is true," Severus sighed, still not looking at him, "that you're hardly imposing and rather short for the title, and heaven knows you haven't any sense of responsibility or gravitas."

Severus glanced at Draco, a growing sardonic smile at his son's ruffled feathers. "But you are a dark lord."

"Mordred was a dark lord," Draco argued. "Voldemort was a dark lord. Get Harry to be the dark lord-"

"Honestly-"

"I couldn't even stand up when Harry was fighting him," Draco insisted.

"You destroyed the Ministry," Severus said.

"No, I got the centaurs to do that."

"You built Gorre on top of a muggle town that you washed off the map."

"Ah, technically that was the Order of the Phoenix and the First Sacrifice."

"You revealed the slaughter going on under Hogwarts."

"That was Voldemort, in a strange, roundabout way."

"And defeated Voldemort."

"That was all Harry and you know it."

Severus stood up straight, as if he'd proven his point. "Exactly."

Draco frowned. He recognized this feeling, that Severus had once again outwitted him and he didn't know how. "...what?"

"You manipulated others into doing your dirty work, conspired both with and against the First Sacrifice, and created the first dark city in centuries. You won back what Mordred and Morgan lost." Severus snorted and finished the notes on his copy of the program. "There is more than one kind of dark lord."

Draco's argument was swallowed up as the school bell rang, sending deep notes through the main chamber. The doors opened wide, sending a burst of fresh air and sunlight in from the street. A handful of parents came in, curiously looking around with their children safely tucked behind them, craning their heads for a glimpse.

"Now sit," Severus said, motioning him toward the seats facing the pews. "Third one from the center on this side. Try to look serious but don't make them think you want to drink their blood."

"I don't look that bad," Draco muttered, crossing the stage and plopping into the chair with crossed arms. "And I guess we're not telling them everything about the teachers then, are we? Bloody idiots, the lot of them, thinking I'm so scary, just look what's teaching here..."

His mutters dwindled to nothing. Behind him, the academy's hall doors opened and the teachers came in, taking their places in the two rows. Draco nodded at a few of the older teachers he recognized, Miss Bathsheba Babbling for Runes, Septima Vector on Arithmancy. But there was also Amycus Carrow to teach Dark Arts and Ylir Damiana, May's mother, to teach some of Dark history. And Morsugur Harp, a vampire, who would teach a course on all manner of night creatures. Considering the smile he'd aimed at Miss Patterson, the muggle studies course wouldn't have a muggle teacher very long.

Draco smiled softly. Let Hermione try to make her school as muggle friendly as she could. Magic would end up swallowing any muggles she hired, one way or another. What muggle could resist?

As he looked back toward the crowd, however, Draco eyed the white basin between the school officials and the parents. He grimaced. As necessary as it was, he was not entirely comfortable with it being there. He didn't care to think of the huge stone hidden several feet beneath, the First Sacrifice's self-selected altar that Draco hoped was no longer haunted. Again, he wished that Harry was here to hold his hand under the table, but his husband's presence would have been too distracting for everyone. Instead he put his hood up, retreating from being stared at.

More and more people came in, seating themselves in the long pews. At the very front, the first pew had been roped off with a sign designating it for invited VIPs, and once it was obvious that Hermione had the crowd well in hand, Luna left the her stack of programs on a table by the door and took her seat directly in front of Draco. And directly next to Rita Skeeter, who barely smiled and refused to acknowledge Luna's presence.

At last the talking quieted, then died altogether. The room felt heavy, as if weighed with lead, and Draco fixed his gaze firmly on the podium so he didn't have to look at anyone. The final bell rang, a deep note that reverberated through the academy and left silence after. This was the worst part—the waiting.

From the back, Hermione shut the doors with a soft click that easily carried in the still air, and her steps on the stone floor were so soft that they shouldn't have been heard at all. Up onto the raised stage, around the simple baptismal font and behind the podium...she took a deep breath and looked out over the crowd.

She realizes she should've just let Luna close up the doors, Draco thought. So she could be up here the whole time. She won't make that mistake again.

No matter. It was hardly important and no one cared. What she said next was the important bit. He knew she had rehearsed this speech a dozen times. He hadn't heard her, but he knew her well enough to know she had. She seemed calm enough, but she gripped the sides of the podium with enough force that her fingertips had gone white.

"Good afternoon," she started. "Welcome to the inaugural class of the First's Academy of the Magical Arts. We thank you for coming."

For a moment, she fidgeted with her hands, tapping them on the desk as if she were tapping notecards in order. She'd memorized her speech, but she wasn't used to addressing crowds and it showed.

"We know how difficult this choice was for you." She took a long breath and faced them, faced the wide eyes of the children and the suspicious glares of the adults. "Hogwarts is gone and so the Academy remains the only school in England. But this dark school is also allowing in wizards once aligned with the Ministry. Two sides of a conflict spanning hundreds of years, and the muggle borns caught in the middle, absolutely bewildered.

"I understand your fears," she said. "I shared them myself for a long time. I have had dark magic explained to me in detail, both by its practitioners and by pureblood light wizards trying to keep me from studying it. And while there is no way we can heal a millenia of war, here at the First's Academy of the Magical Arts, we can begin to truly bridge our differences.

"Our curriculum will span both light and dark," she continued. "Charms, potions, herbology—the classes you're familiar with. We will also instruct our students in several dark classes, with an introduction in their first and second years, more advanced classes of ancient linguistics following."

Grumbles of discontent murmured through the crowd, and several of them visibly shifted in their seats. The parents had known that dark magic would be taught at a dark school, but to hear it out loud made it feel all the more concrete. And how much worse that it would be taught to little first years.

Hermione lifted her head. Mention the dark arts, then shift the subject quickly to something even more groundbreaking. This speech had been carefully planned, and she exhaled in relief as she came to something more familiar to her. This next bit would startle the whole crowd, both light and dark.

"More importantly, however," she said, "we are committed to preparing our students to live not only in a world of both light and dark wizards, but also in a world of muggles. As we welcome more and more muggle born to the community, we at this Academy believe that our children must become conversant in muggle technology and culture. Not a simple muggle studies course, but a third of the overall curriculum will be devoted to learning about the world outside our community.

"And so," she plowed on over the gasps and louder mutters, "our focus will be to ready our students for the entire world, not just one bit of it. The creed of the First's Academy for the Magical Arts...alswa se woruld chaungen, ic thrifan. As the world changes, we thrive."

With a beatific smile, she put one hand out to indicate Severus seated beside her. "That's the overview. To better explain our academics in detail, I present our Headmaster Severus Snape."

She sat down swiftly, masterfully ducking the furor she'd just caused. Draco choked back a snicker—not well enough, as Severus shot him a quick glare before rising and taking the podium. Such was his severe presence practiced over long years of teaching that the audience quieted again, waiting to hear what he'd say before protesting.

"Yes," he said, grasping the podium and drumming his fingers once as he grumbled. "This academy is built up from the ruins of three cultures. We have all felt the loss of the Ministry and Hogwarts. There is not one person in this room that has not been personally struck by the war, losing friends, family, our places of work. The dark community is accustomed to loss, but that does not lessen the pain that our colleagues in the light feel now in this time of change and transition.

"However, we must also remember the muggle town under our feet, surrounding our walls, destroyed by our war. For their sake as well as ours, we cannot afford to ignore muggle society any longer. We cannot let our students grow up without an understanding of the world around them. It has proven fatal to muggles, and it has in the past proven fatal to wizarding society on both sides."

He paused. No one countered him or spoke out, which he counted as a success. Handling a crowd was no different than managing a class. Confidence and stern authority went a long way, along with past experience of cracking heads together.

"Our classes will include introductions on light magic, dark magic and muggle culture. Students will study Latin and Aenglisc, the old dark tongue. They will also study muggle mathematics and sciences. History will be taught as one, both magic and muggle."

He took a breath. So far no mutiny. The purebloods looked bewildered, but they took some reassurance from Draco's presence on the stage. Although he hadn't spoken, having a Malfoy there lent the school some much needed legitimacy. After the establishment of Gorre and the destruction of the Ministry, the dark community would follow Draco, and even purebloods from the light community would respond to that implied respect of tradition.

The next few minutes was filled with Severus introducing the witches and wizards that would teach and their various disciplines. Nevertheless, Draco tried to put their names to memory, failing miserably as he felt his time to speak approaching. A muggleborn history teacher, a muggleborn science teacher, a muggle mathematics teacher...Draco hid a grimace behind his sleeve. Leave it to Granger to hire so many muggles. He took some consolation in that most of the teachers were wizards.

"And finally," Severus said, breathing a sigh of relief that he'd finished without incident and that his son would explain the most incendiary part. "To explain some of the foundations of this academy, our Reeve of Gorre, the Dark Lord Draco Malfoy."

There was no applause. The whispers of parents and children hushed to silence. Even the nervous rustling of clothing stopped as every gaze turned to Draco. Severus left the podium and sat down again, and another moment passed as Draco slowly sat straight, then stood. He walked past the podium and instead came down a step to stand by the white stone basin in front of the stage.

He'd seen it once before when Hermione selected it and helped the Children of Samhain set it into place. Waist high, the stone was simple with several small holes sunk into the very center. He lightly ran his fingertips along its lip.

"Before I begin," he murmured, and his voice carried through the cathedral in an echo. "Let us take a moment to quietly remember all those we have lost, both in these latest battles and in the entirety of our war—our friends, our family, and our comrades."

Most of them didn't, staring openly at him. No matter. Draco cast his mind back to the beginning—nearly losing his parents, Pansy and Theo and his friends hiding in the woods, the Battle of Hogwarts where McGonagall, Flitwick and so many others died. To the nightmares of his ancestors and the painful near-deaths he'd suffered himself. To Morgan le Fey and her war against Merlin. To his guide in the distant past, a shivering, determined dark witch with a knife.

"Magic is built on blood." He lifted his head and looked over all of them, these prospective students and their parents. "Hogwarts demanded a sacrifice that the founders were very careful to hide. Thousands of skeletons were discovered beneath the ruins. It is impossible to tell who each of them was. Lost muggles, perhaps students who wandered down the wrong hall. Hogwarts educated Britain's wizards, but at a terrible price."

He leaned against the edge of the stone basin. "The First's Academy seeks to avoid that price. We refuse to sacrifice anyone's life again, not dark, not light. Not even muggle."

There was a visible release from the audience. Draco had not put his hood down to talk, and there was something just a little off about his clothing, the way his robes seemed to blend too easily with the shadows on the floor. It was easy to believe that Draco would see nothing wrong in killing a few muggles or demanding tribute from the light wizards who so desperately needed a school.

"However," Draco said, "we cannot avoid this basic fact that a school requires blood. There are charms and incantations laid into the bricks and mortar. Candles and lanterns that light and never need changing, library books to be read, warmth in the winter and safeguards to protect students. All of this requires power, and unlike muggles, we simply cannot plug a cord in somewhere."

The muggleborns chuckled, if uneasily. Draco glanced at Severus, who gave a slight nod. Yes, Draco had used the term correctly.

"We have solved this dilemma," Draco said, "with our tuition. The First's Academy does not cost any galleons, that is true. But a price must be paid nonetheless."

He conjured the knife, a shard of black stone flaked off from the altar several feet beneath them. The altar itself was not magical, but it seemed appropriate to use a piece of it for this purpose. Its sharp edge gleamed in the candle light.

"A measure of blood from each student," he said.

Nothing. Were they in shock? To openly demand blood from children... Draco wished Harry was here at his side to at least soften the blow. People trusted Harry. If Harry had been there, they might have thought he considered it no more than needed, a stoic demand from one who had already shed so much of his own blood for them. From Draco, it was the necromantic sacrifice of a dark wizard.

"The knife is charmed not to hurt," he said. "No one will hold it except the offerant. And the amount given is no more than a few spoonfuls."

Still no one spoke. Draco began to feel a bit awkward. Should he explain why this was such a small demand? Should he explain how easy this was compared to what the First had nearly torn from him?

"We are named after the First sacrifice for this reason," he said. "To remember how she and so many after her gave up their lives. For the chance at new life, a peaceful life...is it so much to ask?"

He pushed up his sleeve to bare his arm over the basin. He touched the knife to his skin and blood welled up around the blade, splashing the white stone. Then the letting was done and the skin healed as soon as he lifted the knife. Not a drop remained.

With a ruffle of his sleeve, he set the knife on the basin and took a step back. The crowd followed him, and then gazes flicked amongst themselves. And Draco finally understood. It wasn't that they were horrified or disgusted. Of course some of them were. But no one had argued because he'd explained it so matter of factly, so certain that blood must be spilled that there was no other option. And that was the crux—there really was no other option for so many of the people in the audience, no other place to send their children.

But no one wanted to do so. No one could bring themselves to order their children to take the knife. Parents looked at one another for some clue of what they should do, and no one had an answer.

Expectation weighted the air. If one person bolted, then no doubt several more would flee simply out of fear, nevermind that there was no place to run to. He waited, determined not to show his worry that this would fall apart.

God, he thought. And these were the brave ones who'd come at all.

From the back seats, one little witch stood up, edged in front of her mother to the aisle, and then walked by herself to the basin. Clad in a robe a size too large so that she would grow into it, she stopped in front of him and fidgeted with the wand in her pocket. She glanced aside, feeling the weight of everyone's stare, but she dutifully pulled back her sleeve and held out her hand for the knife.

"Tell it your name," Draco said as he gave her the blade. "So it knows you."

She nodded and pressed the knife to her arm just as he had done.

"Jillian Tavisham," she said as her blood colored the stone. Then she lifted the knife, the cut healed, and she looked up at Draco. "Is that it?"

"That's it," he said. "Welcome to the Academy. I hope you aren't the only one."

Frowning because that thought had not occurred to her, she turned and waved at one of the boys in the crowd. She gave him a look and a more impatient gesture, and then the youngster that Draco recognized from the Grinset family huffed and got up.

Behind him, a dozen children suddenly stood and slid past their parents, intent on not being last in line. And then the older students came to their feet, giving their parents nervous looks as they came, knowing they had to finish their schooling somehow. Draco watched all of them make the cut. Even the dark children grimaced when they had to offer their blood. Only the potions apprentices didn't flinch, and Draco shared a knowing glance with those few.

When the last one had done and all the offerings were made, spilling down onto the altar stone out of sight, Draco took the knife and—in a flash of dramatics—offered it to Hermione.

"Every offering is paid," he said, and he again took his seat.

She took it and walked quickly to the podium, almost knocking against it. Watching dozens of children spill their blood left her feeling ill.

"Then we can officially begin the school year. Headmaster, this school is yours."

"Finally," Severus snorted under his breath. Louder, he spoke in the same formal tone. "The First's Academy of the Magical Arts opens its doors to its first class. Students, please follow the lit candles to your room. You will find your names and schedules already left upon each bed—"

More was said, rules and expectations to be explained by the teachers escorting the children along the way, further announcements to be made at dinner. Draco ignored it all, slipping by the parents hugging their children and promises of letters to be written. His robes made him appear to be no more than a shadow on the wall, and when he came to the door, he took to the air, a white wyvern flashing out of the darkness and winging his way up over Gorre.

Harry sat on the railing ringing their rooftop patio. With a warning cry, Draco swooped in close and circled Harry's outstretched hand, then transformed and landed on his feet safely behind the railing. He put his arms around his husband's waist, hugging him tight.

"Are you insane?" Draco grumbled. "What are you doing on the edge?"

"Liked the view," Harry said. "Don't worry, I'm not going to fall."

"Special Daily Prophet Inset: Boy Who Lived," Draco muttered against Harry's unkempt hair, "slayer of Voldemort, plunges to death in stupid patio accident."

"I've been told that I'd bounce." Harry chuckled, putting his hands over Draco's. "How'd the ceremony go?"

"Without a hitch," Draco said, shrugging. "School is officially open."

"When do classes start?"

"No idea." Draco lifted his head, resting on Harry's shoulder as he spoke. "That's all Sev's problem. Just like there's a town council meeting at six that's all father's problem, and the repatriation committee meeting the ships from Roanoke tomorrow that's all mother's problem."

"And what's Draco Malfoy's problem?" Harry asked.

"A husband sitting on a railing far too high off the ground?" Draco grumbled. But then he sighed and closed his eyes to the world, snuggling his face against Harry's neck. "Tomorrow I start making us a child."

"Really?" Harry straightened, turning so that Draco had to meet his look. "Tomorrow? How long will it start? Should we get anything? And how come just one—?"

"I already have everything," Draco said, letting Harry manhandle him so that he had to lean a little over the railing to keep holding him. "And I already told you, I'm not a Weasley. No mountains of children."

"But just one?" Harry asked. "Is that why there's only one of you? How come?"

Draco looked into his husband's eyes, and he bit his lip in disappointment. Harry was so open, so eager to surround himself with a family that could love and trust and nurture each other. Draco often nursed a secret worry that Harry would have been happier with the Weasleys after all, with a dozen brats and laughter around the dinner table. Not the cold politics and sarcastic jibes of the Malfoys.

"Twins happen sometimes," he said as a weak offering. "Rarely. I don't know why two children doesn't work. Sev' would only tell me that I'd understand afterward. I think it takes more out of us than we realize. That so much of us goes into it and if we try again, it wouldn't...it wouldn't come out right."

Draco couldn't elaborate. He didn't understand what Severus had meant, but his master never lied about a potion. If Sev' said that the potion was for one child, then there would be one child. Perhaps it was because parents rarely lived long enough to try twice, or that the attempt was so delicate in itself. Or that dark magic had a price, and that some rules couldn't be bent for fear of bringing down a curse on themselves or the child.

It stung. Not that he couldn't create two children—the thought of one was more than enough for Draco. But that he couldn't create two children for Harry. His husband had longed for a proper family, one that loved and supported each other and had big dinners around big tables. And instead Draco's family snapped and bit at each other and occasionally threw food at each other.

Harry no longer complained, finally grown accustomed to the Malfoys. Or he finally gave up any hope of a something better.

"Do you regret marrying me?" Draco said, unable to stop himself. "Do you regret—?"

Harry kissed him, silencing him for long seconds. Draco jerked once, a half-hearted attempt to get loose, and Harry's arm around him tightened, pinning him close to his side. Then a smaller kiss, lighter on his lips in a tiny apology for cutting him off. Draco smiled, resting his forehead against Harry's.

"My viper," Harry whispered. "My Malfoy."

From far below, the bell tower struck the half hour. Draco tilted his head to look out over his city. Gorre-on-Avon looked like a proper city, all narrow streets and a river in the middle that brought dark wizards back from the colonies and the rest of the world. The park in the middle was young with saplings but they would soon grow into a fine copse. And the cemetery, still just an unassuming plot of land, a potter's field.

The light wizards were so wrapped up in their loss and pain—rebuilding their Ministry, mourning Hogwarts and studying ways to try to revive it. Draco wished them well as far as Hogwarts went, but how reassuring that they were so focused on their own efforts that they did not guess as to Draco's plans.

"You're plotting again," Harry said. "I think I can hear the gears turning."

"I'm always plotting," Draco said. "For when things go to hell."

"But not today, right?" Harry asked. "Nothing is going to hell today?"

It will in a few hundred years, Draco wanted to say. When all of this falls apart and they try to kill us and the same sad drama plays out again.

Nothing changed. Nothing really had changed. He'd restored Gorre and given the dark wizards a place of safety. If anything, he was simply playing the part of Morgan le Fey, but this time he'd managed to keep his Mordred safe with him.

"No," Draco said, giving in to Harry's grin. "Nothing is going to hell today."

He let Harry wrap him up, kiss his throat, begin to undo the buttons he'd created in his robes expressly for Harry to undo.

Tomorrow could take care of itself.


	21. Epilogue: Wherein a Malfoy comes home

Thunder and rain. A hunched figure scurried across the broken cobblestones and squelching mud, pressing close to what remained of the storefronts, all scorched and worn down by time. The great bell tower lay across the flooded road, still intact enough that Melusina used it for a hiding spot, darting inside, pulling back her hood to see over her shoulder.

She couldn't see the dogs but she heard them baying and howling, whining as they strained their leashes. And the men...she couldn't see them but she saw the light of their wands and their torches behind the crumbled city gates. She had little time left, only minutes before the dogs caught her scent again.

Melusina slipped through the long tower, allowing herself to feel the thrill of vindication. Lost, everyone had said. Gorre-on-Avon had swallowed itself up in dark magics so no one could ever find it again, but here she was. Here she was, walking through the bell tower that had been part of the First's Academy. She put her hand on the bell as she went by, spotting the engraving along the brass edge—alswa se woruld chaungen, ic thrifan.

Moving out the side where the bricks lay smashed open, she chanced standing up and running down a road now only hinted at by glimpses of cobblestones. Under a bridge miraculously still standing, she saw the ruined towers that had once housed the great dark lords of ages past. Vines and bushes had claimed most of them, growing over broken pipes and torn windows.

What she might have learned if she could have explored them!

But no time, no time, and she cursed herself again for waiting so long, for trusting in the words of the magistrates and the Order of Merlin. All the light wizards swore that of course they wanted to return to the golden era when light and dark lived side by side and went to the same school and governed themselves, guided by heroes on both sides. A lie, all of it. The light wanted to return to their own golden era, their utopia when dark wizards were hunted down like animals.

She may very well die here. The legendary city had long since returned to the wild. A forest had risen up here in the center, the deep roots in the pavement the only thing holding back the Avon river from washing the ruins away. Anything of value had been stripped down when the inhabitants fled during the last battle, scattering into the shadows as the Order of Merlin sought to root them all out.

The dogs were closer. If only she could turn into a rabbit or hare and outrun them, but her wyvern shape was useless in the heavy rain. Even if she could take flight, their bullets would find her and bring her down as they had her mother.

And this was a fool's errand. She had only a slip of a memory, a nightmare burned into her brain, the touch of a hand on a gravestone and the feeling that her salvation lay buried beneath that stone, in the lost city of dark magic.

She gasped when she saw the rusted, ruined fence around the crooked tombstones.

Breaking into a dead sprint, she drew close and flung wide the gate, slashing her hand on the ancient metal. She didn't need to search the names. Against the far wall, partly hidden by dead vines, her own name glared out at her in a flash of lightning.

_Melusina d'le Malfoi – our beloved daughter has returned home_

She fell to her knees in the mud. Somehow they had known. How old was this stone? Somehow the dark lords of the past had known. This grave was her gift.

She heard the dogs running up the street towards her, saw the light of the torches beginning to color the gravestones around her. There was no fear. She dug her hands into the soil and drew out a box hardly large enough to store a loaf of bread. It opened at her touch, revealing a heavy book, a wand and a bottle of something dark and indistinct.

With no time left, she uncorked the bottle and drank. Thick, coagulated blood hit her mouth and ran down the back of her throat like ice. Picking up the book with one hand and the wand in her other, she stood and turned to face the mob before her. They halted, these men and women in the deep blue robes of Merlin with their gleaming gold badges, a dozen wizards and witches and their hounds with bewitched eyes too wise for normal dogs. Their gaze meeting hers, they stared at her in the moment before their hands would unleash their hounds and see her torn apart.

She was no longer alone. Could they see the other wizards behind her? No, the Order of Merlin couldn't see the nameless thousands standing around her, her ancient lineage stretching back to even the founding of the great city. Briefly, she thought she felt her mother's hand on her shoulder, heard a voice whisper by her ear.

The book fell open. How had the Malfoy grimoire been buried here so long ago? Hidden during the battle? Put down for safe-keeping? It didn't matter. It was hers again, and the cover fell open as the pages flashed. She lifted the wand. A dozen spells flickered through her brain, things she'd never been taught but now remembered, and the power of the entire city filled her hand, power enough to save herself, power to turn this war from a fight for survival to a fight for victory.

Oh yes. She had come home.


End file.
